


My Smiling Stronghold

by nonsensicalbelle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Adult Content, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, M/M, Physical Abuse, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tangled AU, bucky is a snarky ex-super soldier/spy, steve is a wide eyed princess, that no one asked for but i wrote anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonsensicalbelle/pseuds/nonsensicalbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has never left his tower. Bucky has never made friends with someone he tried to kill. They're both having a strange day. With Hydra hunting down Bucky, they'll get more than they planned if Steve's discovered. As secrets bubble over and the pair try desperately not to lie to each other, they definitely don't fall for each other along the way.. -tangled au-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tower

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my new story i've been hinting at. i've learnt my lesson from Flames, this has been planned and half-written already so you shouldn't have to wait long for chapters! i honestly love this little story, these characters are already charming to me and i can't wait to see what people think. please let me know what you think, hope you like it chaps! x

Steve was perhaps the most bored he had ever been, though he’s sure he thought that yesterday. And maybe the day before that, and, well that thought seems to follow him around the small room he’s trapped in all day long, every day. Not trapped. He has to stop thinking that. Stupid Sam, always rubbing his freedom in Steve’s face every time he spreads his tiny wings and flutters from the large window at dawn and dusk.

Sam is Steve’s only friend in the world, really. And he’s a red-breasted robin so Steve’s not exactly sure if it counts but he’s friendly and beautiful and animals seem far friendlier than humans from what Steve can gather, so he’ll take his winged friend thank you very much. Besides, what human would choose to be friends with a 90 or so pound sack of bones and weird, unnatural powers like Steve? That’s what Johann always says anyway, and after nearly twenty one years the message has sank into Steve’s very skin. There’s a reason he avoids mirrors. He’s not met many other people but from books and what Johann looks like, he’s fairly certain if someone can punch through rock or heal people, you shouldn’t be able to see their ribcage through their skin, and they shouldn’t catch colds or get ill at the drop of a hat.

His ‘condition’, that’s what he prefers to call it, is some kind of supernatural ability that allows him to do things normal people can’t. He knows he’s strong but he is petrified to use his strength so he’s never found out exactly how strong. He works hard every day to be as delicate as possible, he remembers how his hands shook the first time he tried to stroke Sam’s feathers, terrified he’d crush the tiny bones and lose the only thing close to a friend he’d ever had. And he can heal things, people, memories, that’s the one that scares him the most. The way Johann looked at him on the one occasion Steve tried to heal his memories left him in no doubt that he is a monster. His hands bringing such fear to the eyes of the only person who had ever shown him any kindness, it was toxic, he is toxic.

Johann took him to this place as a child to protect him from people who sought to steal his power, abuse it. Once someone tried to steal his power from him with a syringe and a special poison, Johann just managed to stop him from being killed but he keeps a jagged scar over his heart, an ugly reminder of why he must hide away from the world. He helps keep Johann strong and his mind collected and Johann says it is his job as a ‘Father’ to protect Steve which means he can never leave the room in the tower that touches the clouds.

It’s really not so bad, he’s incredibly lucky to be so protected, hidden from the terrible people who would hurt him or even kill him without a second thought. Occasionally he’d catch himself gazing at the vines that hung in the distance, the only passage to freedom. Johann waved from the vines before disappearing through them once every day to collect supplies. He’d catch himself gazing and wishing, desperately wishing that just once someone would walk through those vines, some daring stranger with an uncanny ability to find ridiculously well-hidden towers. It was ridiculous, a pipe dream but still Steve would dream. All he did was dream.

But those vines would never move and he’d blink, eyes stinging from how long they’d been fixed on one spot and Steve would berate himself. If all he does is dream then he’ll miss the present. He rips himself from the window and ignores the way Sam pecks at his shoulder and flutters to the window, looking at him with big, pleading eyes.

Doing his chores is like second nature and if he isn’t careful he switches off, so he takes care to find detail and beauty in everything he does. When he sweeps, he marvels at the specks of dust that sparkle, floating effortlessly in the sunlight, and he ignores the twang of envy as they drift into the open air. Washing dishes, he traces the patterns in the crockery and tries to recreate them in bubbles. He dries each dish as if it were his most precious belonging. Sewing, making food and fixing things all becomes an art form.

And then of course, he draws. He would draw until his fingers bled had he the pencils and the paper. Every book he owned he’d stripped the paper down so he could sketch on any spare piece he could find. Every piece of furniture has scrawls and charcoal and chalk stains. It’s his walls that he prides himself on, after practicing a sketch over and over he would take the paints Johann bought him for his last birthday and recreate it in the gorgeous colours, leaving a spectrum of memories to surround him, comfort him. It pains him to paint over anything when each piece brings back all the memories that came with it but he long since filled every spare nook and cranny on every wall. It frustrated Johann to some extent; he says the colours hurt his eyes which hurts Steve more than he’d like to admit.

He tries to draw other people but Johann has the same angles he’s always had and he hates it when he catches Steve sketching him. Sometimes he tries to think up an imaginary model but it’s so generic and the lack of anything unique is stifling. He’s desperate to see light behind the eyes of the nameless droid he draws. He wants to study the blemishes of someone else, he wants to train his eyes to learn the canvas of a stranger until they aren’t strange anymore. He’s artistically parched and it drives him insane. He’s even sketched Sam’s wings but Johann got suspicious about how he knew to draw wings so well and he was scared at what would happen should he find out about his secret flying companion so he stopped. Steve’s fingers itch at every take off and turn and flicker of his wings.

Sometimes nothing is quite enough though. The room is a constant. He knows every corner, every mark, every surface, every creak and groan and drip and it’s so familiar. It’s so familiar it’s deafening. In the books he reads familiarity is a comfort and he’s tried, he’s tried so hard to smile every time the eighteenth floorboard creaks and feel at peace every time the supplies cupboard’s door handle falls off. Because if this is home like it is meant to be, why does it set his teeth on edge? Every sound is an echo of another that he’s heard from each day before for twenty years, there’s no new, no strange, no enticing or frightening. It’s a blunt and unfeeling state and yet Steve feels so sensitive. Sometimes the sound of the curtains makes him cry, because their movement in the wind is more spontaneous than he will ever be.

He hates the resentment that bubbles in his heart every time he lowers Johann down on the rope to enter a world from which he is barred. And when Johann disappears from sight it feels like the air turns more stagnant than before somehow, like he was the only thing that made it move. Steve is a piece of furniture now, things move around him, not vice versa.

He used the word trapped once. Johann’s beating had been relentless, and Steve’s apologies had tasted like copper and bile. Johann had said he was ungrateful, he was spoiled and naive and tarnished and he deserved none of what he had and Steve had felt something poisonous flow through him and for the millionth time he cursed the powers that travelled through his veins. This was all their doing.

Sometimes he thought drastically – he stared down at the drop from the tower, would his body heal fast enough if he let himself fall? But those thoughts never lasted long, they were trying to cheat him. He may be poisoned or tarnished and maybe he didn’t deserve the world but he sure as hell wanted it. He wanted it all. He wanted bruised knuckles, he wanted the taste of the sea, was it really salty? He wanted to run in one direction until he collapsed. He wanted to hear people sing songs in different languages and swim and climb and feel. He knows not all feelings are good and he’s read about feelings he can’t really fathom in more than a theoretical sense. What would jealousy taste like? Or lust? How does bliss sit in a smile? Or fear in your fingertips? Can you spot grief from a mile away or is it subtle and harder to spot? Was he really such a monster that he didn’t deserve to feel, at least once, everything everyone else could?

There was one event that gifted him the rare and pure feelings of anticipation, then excitement, then wonder. Every year on his birthday a beautiful string of glowing lights flooded the sky and whirled through the night, closer than stars but never close enough for Steve to know what they are. They flickered like something reflective and were radiant colours against the deep navy void of the night sky. Every birthday they acted as an anchor for Steve, reminding him there was more and it was, despite being out of his reach, his to admire and appreciate. And they were his. They were private and intimate and became something inherently Steve – he aspired to be the glowing lights that mimicked snippets of sunlight that wanted to play in a different place one night a year.

Every year he longed to see them up close. He had dreams of sketching them at an arm’s length distance and the dreams didn’t disappoint though they changed shape with each imagination. He painted them on the patch of wall behind a large curtain – Johann wouldn’t like them. The thought of being near to his only object of hope, of true inspiration, was enough to forcefully steel himself and ask Johann, beg if he had to, to see them up close.

“Floating lights? Steven, you mean the stars.” Johann had replied distractedly when he’d first broached the subject, busying himself with unpacking supplies.

“Well, no, actually these are different – they only appear once a year, every year, on my birthday. Which is,” Steve huffs a nervous laugh.

“Which is wonderful, and, I just wondered if you would take me to see them, up close I mean.” Steve’s smile is wary and polite but Johann’s face is all lines and disapproval already so Steve quickly changes tact.

“I’m twenty one now, or I will be and I can’t help but feel like these lights coming on my birthday, they are somehow meant for me, I need to see them for myself, up close,”

“Steven, you know why we stay in this tower.” Johann remarks with ice and Steve swallows the ‘why _I_ stay in this tower’ that lingers in the back of his throat, it would get him nowhere.

“Yes, but–”

“To keep you safe, at great cost might I add.”

“Yes, Johann, I understand but–” Steve tries.

“I don’t think you do, or you would not ask this of me. The moment you step foot outside of this tower is the moment you sign your own death warrant.” Johann sounds angry now and this isn’t how Steve wanted this conversation to go. If he’d just listen he might understand, he might agree.

“Yes but if you’re with me... and I’m strong I can–” Steve starts and a biting laugh from Johann stops him.

“Strong? You think your botched brute strength makes you capable, don’t be so absurd. These people don’t just fight with their fists, Steven. They fight with their minds and their words and weapons beyond your imagination.” His voice is raising now and Steve is shifting back towards the window like always.

“But what if–”

“They find ways to pull you apart, someone as fragile as you wouldn’t last more than a day before you were pulled to pieces. What good will floating lights be when you are dead, Steven?” He’s half smiling and Steve was wrong, he’s felt the presence of something frightening before and here it is again. Some part of him notes that fear in fingertips is a dull throb.

“I won’t.. it isn’t...” Steve is lost, choking on his words, this isn’t something he’s ever been good at. Johann can always talk him down.

“Don’t be so selfish. You are always so selfish, Steven.” He’s looking at him like he’s disgusting, like he’s said something repulsive and shame engulfs Steve and his eyes fill and suddenly all the air has been sucked from the room.

“Of course, play the victim, because that’s a role we don’t see you in often.” Johann spits and he marches away and tears are falling hot and fast now.

He doesn’t bring up the floating lights again. He just stares out of the window and wishes just once he could run. He doesn’t care if it would hurt, if he got lost, he doesn’t even care if it would kill him because at least he would have lived. So he stares and wishes. Let me run. Please let me run.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

Bucky’s running again. In the morning. Two of his least favourite things. Combined. Who authorised this, he thinks bitterly to himself as he runs and then begins scaling the castle walls. He’s quicker than the thug twins he’s been teamed up with for some reason – he knows the reason in his heart. He’s raising eyebrows, getting unwanted attention from the higher ups in Hydra both because of his skills and the waning control his handlers have over him. He’s a liability. Pierce calls him an asset, Zola calls him a risk, says he’s exceeding their limitations, they’d underestimated the potency of his abilities but Pierce refused to shut him down.

Bucky tries hard not to think what that entails because if they shut him down it would be in the most clinical terms possible. He’s woken from cryo more times than he could count but along the way he started remembering more – leaving himself notes in hard to find places that he’s drawn to for some reason. He pieces it all together, the memory wipes, the brutality and he forms a plan that has taken this long to begin to enact simply because of all the memory wipes they’ve been subjecting him to recently. (He also only knows this because he broke into the store room and stole his file.)

He’s going to complete this job and then bolt and someone must have some inkling because he’s more than capable of doing this job alone but they’ve bundled him with the two numbskull brutes, Rumlow and Ward. They’re about as subtle as a town crier with all the sideways glances and making him go first everywhere so he can’t slip away.

It doesn’t matter though, after he’s got this crown he can ditch them and have enough to get far away and live comfortably. It’s the crown of the lost heroson so it’s always guarded but it never has visitors or any use, making it a stealth job not an ambush. They can be gone with the crown before the guards ever notice something isn’t right. Seeing as he’s the lightest and the most skilled, he’s lowered into the room by Ward and Rumlow, their one use in this whole charade.

As he’s being steadily lowered he takes in the grandeur of the room, it’s ornate and tastefully decorated. There’s a portrait of the lost heroson, barely a toddler, with large and kind blue eyes and a gentle smile and for a moment Bucky feel guilty about stealing a remaining memory from the child’s parents, he knows how precious memories are. That’s if they’re still alive, he’s kept a low profile for as long as he can remember, his information might not be up to date. He looks away from the picture, reminding himself of his plan for freedom and it’s enough to refocus on the crown.

The crown is in a glass case and there are two guards less than a metre from it, facing the door, and two more at the doors, facing the entrance. He registers his every breath and tempers it according to the volume and temperature of the room, overkill but it’s his training and old habits die hard. The case is sensitive to temperature and Bucky almost rolls his eyes at how little security the castle has, they’re all so naive and trusting. He tries not to think about what that makes him. His metal hand stretches out and gently clasps the case, clamping it and raising it just enough that he can slip his other hand under it and ease out the delicate crown.

The crown itself is stunning. It’s a golden ringlet, encrusted with jewels, understated but dazzling and reflective. It has the classic heroson emblem of a shield crafted in a gorgeous aqua opal which is nestled at the front of the crown. Bucky catches a glimpse of himself in the blue jewel and his own expression catches him off guard, he looks at himself with awe in his eyes and it jolts him back to reality. Only fools obsess with gold. That brings his thoughts back to Rumlow and Ward who were practically drooling on the rope before he was lowered. He can just see them above him in the window, leaning, impatiently waiting.

Now’s his chance. He needs to create a scene and he can only think of one thing on the top of his head. He could be more subtle but why not have a bit of fun, it’s not like his handlers are going to get a hold of him after this. He tugs the rope to signal he’s ready to be pulled up to safety – halfway to the window he hurls the glass case for the crown at one of the guards and the squawk he emits as it crashes into him is enough to prompt a loud laugh from Bucky. The guards reaction is immediate and exactly what he hopes for and the noise that starts roaring through the castle of guards is just what Bucky was expecting.

The thug twins might have realised something was out of the ordinary had they not been in a raging panic. The entire royal guard’s wrath was currently bustling around the castle in search of the intruders. In their alarm they didn’t question Bucky’s sudden and outrageous lapse of judgement and just hauled him up and out of the window and the trio lurched into a sprint on top of the castle walls.

“We need to get out of the kingdom!” Rumlow yelled as they leapt precariously from wall to wall. ‘I intend to go much farther than the kingdom borders’, Bucky thought to himself.

Palace horses were hot on their tails as they were sprinting away from the castle borders and into the thick forest. Bucky was trying to keep focused, this was exactly what he needed. Distraction, chaos, evasion. The thug twins were on either side of him as they raced away, he could tell they were struggling to keep up with him, he was built like a machine and it was times like these that it paid off.

They shuddered to a halt when they ran into a dead end, high grassy walls standing between them and freedom.

“Right, give me a boost and I’ll pull you up,” Bucky instructed. The two other men exchanged a look and Bucky rolled his eyes, making a point that they saw it.

“Seriously? You don’t trust me?” Bucky mocked. The shouts from the castle guards were getting louder and his skin was crawling with the urge to escape.

“Give us the crown.” Ward held out his hand for Bucky’s bag which was currently slung over his shoulder. He huffed loudly and wrenched it off, shoving it at Ward.

“Happy?” Rumlow knelt down and Ward climbed on his shoulders, allowing Bucky to scale them. As he went his quick fingers dipped over Ward’s shoulder and snatched up the satchel with ease. He hopped on top of the grass ledge and stood up.

“Well, go on then, pull us up.” Ward snapped, reaching up with a suspicious glint in his eye. Bucky allowed himself a sly smile and shrugged carelessly.

“Sorry, my hands are full,” He held up his bag in his metal hand and watched the two men’s faces turn violent quickly.

“Maybe this is magnetic after all,” Bucky laughed sharply, ignoring the eruption of outrage from the two men. He was almost tempted to hang around to listen to their hilarious threats but the guards were closing in and he needed to be gone already.

Dashing through the forest was like second nature for him at this point, he’d be concerned if trees weren’t speeding by, inches from his face. The only problem was he was heading in a direction he didn’t know much of – all he knew was it was the opposite direction to the kingdom and that was all that mattered. But it was disconcerting, he remembered things well and the distinct unfamiliarity of the trees was making him uncomfortable. Not that familiarity meant safety, he reminded himself, trying to ignore the feeling of a target painted on his back.

He shuddered to a halt, tracing backwards a couple of steps to rip a wanted sign from a tree and glare down at it in horror. There was no picture but the description of him made him grimace angrily.

_Wanted – Dead or Alive_

_A dangerous criminal, wanted for several counts of murder, theft, torture, kidnapping and arson._

_Said to be tall and well-built, intimidating in appearance, overly aggressive, with a metal arm._

_Under no circumstances to be approached or trusted, do not hesitate to defend with weapons, deadly force if necessary._

_Any sightings or suspicious behaviour should be reported to the palace guards immediately._

Of course there’s no mention of the fact he couldn’t remember any of these offences, or that he’d been subjected to countless torture and control techniques to keep him from keeping any free will. They’d kept him constantly disoriented to time, who he was, what was right and wrong, he lived in a blur of obeying or pain and then nothing, rinse and repeat. The organisation was smart enough to keep him as a figurehead but also partly in the shadows. That way he was just a hidden criminal, not a tool used by a larger, more nefarious organisation.

He just wanted to get out, away, some place safe and out of sight, he didn’t need anything or anyone else.

He angrily shoved the wanted poster in his bag, glancing over his shoulder and taking off at a sprint again upon hearing the shouts of guards, or maybe even the thug twins. The thunder of horses made him uneasy, even he couldn’t outrun a palace horse, he needed somewhere to hide and quickly.

The forest was getting more and more dense, the light becoming dappled through the leaves that were greeting each other high above his head. At this rate, if he lost the light, he could end up going in circles and bump straight into the guards. It wasn’t in his nature to panic but he felt that sickly prickle up his spine when things were going wrong. He couldn’t get caught. He couldn’t go back. The thought of what they’d do to him after they no doubt found a way to steal him away from the guards made him shudder.

Then the light started returning but he could see he was approaching a clearing in the trees and his stomach dropped. He couldn’t outrun them or hide in the open, the trees were the only thing between him and capture so he stumbled a little at the speed in which he stopped running, head spinning at the sudden change of pace. Hearing the guards so close he backed up against a wall covered in vines he considered attempting to climb, a natural defence tactic as he tried to think of all exits.

However, expecting to feel both the comfort and displeasure of a solid wall hitting his back, he was startled and made an odd squawk as he fell through the wall of vines to discover it was a well-hidden tunnel. He froze as the horses passed, a few pausing momentarily, as if they could smell him. After they passed, out of habit, Bucky stayed completely still for a few more moments before getting to his feet and following the tunnel, knowing it was his only option unless he wanted to get caught in the forest.

Exhausted from the chase and the whole morning, even the whole long, agonising process of planning and executing his escape, he dragged his feet a little as he walked. Deliberately. He was unaccustomed to taking his time with things, having that luxury was an alien concept and an odd gust of anticipation blew through him, reminding him that this was what he had to look forward to. Taking his time. He came back to himself at the distant sound of whinnying and sped up his steps. Sure he could take his time, just not yet.

He pushed his way through another thick curtain of vines and his eyes widened at the sight that was hiding behind it. There was a gorgeous clearing that set the stage for a soaring tower, blindingly high, engulfed in vines and moss, beautiful old brick marooned in a sea of clouds and morning haze. It was so breathtaking that Bucky just stood there, marvelling at the spectacle, taking the time to drink in its grandeur. Bucky had lived in a world of backstreet alleys, rooftops and underground cellars – this was like stepping into a fairytale, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret stumbling upon it, even if he didn’t belong.

However, as he stood there, a sharp whinny, too close to be safe, jolted him into action. He rushed forwards towards the tower, the only hiding place in sight. His climbing expertise came into play as he manoeuvred the strength from his metal arm into finding safe vines to cling to and solid cracks in the stone to use as footholds. Scaling the tower took more time than he would’ve liked but he didn’t fancy the fall and for the first time in a long time, he wanted to take care of himself. What a concept. He finally reached the top of the tower and swung himself inside, landing on both feet with a weary huff.

Remarkably, he didn’t hear the pattering of bare feet on stone. He did, however, hear the strangled battle cry from somewhere behind him and somewhere in the recesses of his brain he recognised the dull thunk of a pan colliding with his skull as he slid unconscious.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **


	2. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is determined to get out of the tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! 2nd chapter, thank you for the lovely response to the first! i hope you enjoy this chapter though trigger warning abuse, particularly physical abuse and just general not so nice topics but they pass!   
> very excited for you all to see how this story pans out. and now, enjoy the boys' first meeting~!

Steve was gasping in air, shaking outrageously, taking it in turns to stare at the pan in his hand and the man on the ground like some horrifying miracle was playing out and he didn’t know how he was supposed to feel about it yet. Oddly enough, after the initial swell of utter fear and horror had passed, a delirious pride bubbled up in his throat and he let out a shocked laugh of delight.

“I did it!” He breathed and laughed manically, clutching his non-pan hand to his forehead and swinging the pan around madly in the other like a crazed ninja, or what he thought one would behave like.

“Fragile, was it Johann? Look at me n–” A rogue swoop of his pan catches himself across the face and he hisses in pain, wincing as he brings a hand up to heal himself, wiping away the remaining blood.

Sam flutters excitedly around his head in orbit, tweeting and singing loudly, urging him forwards to investigate. Steve gazes at the man on the ground, his stomach settling into something heavier as he considers Johann’s warnings of the outside world. What if this man was some terrible criminal? What if he was here to try and steal Steve’s powers from him?

He noticed the bag slung over the stranger’s shoulder and carefully slid it out from around him. Reaching inside he didn’t take his eyes off the man on the floor so he was surprised when something cold and a little sharp brushed his fingertips. He snatched it out, fearing it would be a knife and was bewildered at the glittering circlet. A few choice gems tangled in a metal nest. It was so obviously beautiful Steve felt he shouldn’t even be touching it, and yet, some part of him felt at home holding it. He wondered what the strange shape at the front could mean, it rang a bell somewhere in his mind but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

He could look at this more carefully later. For now, he replaced the crown into the bag and glanced back down to its owner who looked just as at odds with the metal piece as Steve did. He wondered how this man came across it. He deftly placed the bag into a pot before laughing at his own bad hiding skills and took time to hide it more skilfully, then came back to stare at the man by the window some more. 

From the way his face was angled into the ground he couldn’t properly analyse the man’s face so he gently used the pan’s handle to nudge the unconscious man’s face to the side, his head shifting easily. Steve’s not sure what he was expecting, maybe long sharp teeth, terrifying scars (not that he should judge based on those), a missing eye, but the man had none of these things. In fact, there was something pleasing in the curve of his jaw, full lips and even closed, his eyes looked gentle, kind. Any fear he’d had somehow felt foolish now and his fingers suddenly felt like they were on fire with his desire to sketch every outline to detail of the man’s face.

He inched closer, one hand reaching out without his realising. However, a low groan from the other man prompted a loud yell of surprise from Steve and without thinking he swung the frying pan, whacking the other man across the head, knocking him out again.

A few calming breaths later, Steve was startled out of his thoughts on how to progress with the situation when he heard a familiar shout from Johann at the foot of the tower. Now he was scared. No. Not scared. Just nervous. He shouldn’t be scared of Johann, he tried to remind himself, ignoring the dangerous thud of his uneasy heart.

“Steven,” Johann called distantly.

“Let down the rope!”

“Just a minute!” Steve yelled back, his voice breaking a little. He had a split-second where he just flailed in panic at the situation before he sprung into action, dumping the pan and heaving the man up and shoving him into a cupboard. He was terrified of crushing the man’s bones or accidentally even bruising him – criminal or not, Steve didn’t want to hurt anybody.

He sighed in relief when he managed to shut the cupboard doors and smiled shakily, trying to calm down. He attempted to give Sam a reassuring look when he gasped at the sight of his winged friend.

“Sam! You gotta’ hide!” Sam needed no further instruction and was gone in one flick of his perfect wings. Steve already ached from the loss of his companion but had bigger issues to address.

“Steven!” Johann’s voice was more insistent now and he hurried to lower the rope and pull him up quickly. Finally the older man stepped through the large window and huffed a breath, dusting himself off.

“My goodness, have you lost the sickness that gave you strength enough to pull me up on the rope?” Johann exclaimed and Steve winced at his choice of words.

“No, no, I haven’t. I’m still... it’s still,” He gestured to himself to save a description and Johann gave a wry smile in return.

“Then I really don’t know why it takes so long!” His tone was sing-song and jovial but his eyes were hard and disapproving. He laughed loudly, however, when Steve didn’t respond.

“Always so solemn, Steven. Will you never smile? Life is not such a serious thing you know,” Johann remarked distractedly as he unloaded the supplies and Steve forced an unconvincing laugh.

“Anyway, I have a surprise.”

“Actually, so do I,” Steve started, trembling smile giving him away, luckily Johann’s back was turned.

“I brought back leeks for stew, your favourite, surprise!” Johann sounded pleased with himself. Steve hated leeks. It had started as a sort of private joke between them, though did it count as a private joke between them if it was at Steve’s expense? Regardless, Steve had told Johann years ago about his dislike of leeks and for some reason it amused him greatly to make leeks a regular place in his diet. Character building. Steve held back the bile and biting remark that, as always, were lurking at the back of his throat.

“Thank you.” He managed, slowly. Teeth grinding a little at Johann’s obnoxiously loud laugh. Then he turned quiet and span around.

“Father is tired, Steven, lend me some energy, won’t you?” They both knew this wasn’t a request. Steve had refused once. Once. The word ‘Father’ seemed to hang in the air like a toxic gas and Steve could feel himself breathing it in, unable to ignore it’s invasion and he bristled.

“Yeah, of course,” Steve mumbled. He quickly grabbed him a stool and knelt in front of Johann, placing both hands on his face and staring straight into his eyes, forcing streams of energy through his fingertips into Johann more quickly than he usually did. He was usually exceptionally careful, after all, who knew what would happen if he lost focus, he was playing with dangerous elements. But he had lost his desire to be careful and consequences felt irrelevant even if they were inevitable.

Rather than a slow difference, colour flooded back into the roots of Johann’s hair, his skin tightened on his face visibly and his spine cracked a little as Steve straightened it, producing a sharp yell from Johann. He stood and struck Steve harshly across the face, catching the hinge of his jaw and something cracked as he slammed into the cold stone.

“How dare you? You think this is a game, these abilities you have are toys?” Johann spat at him and Steve knew better than to stand. He scrambled back, finding himself drawing closer to the cupboard, somehow knowing another human being was near, even if he was unconscious, seemed to help.

“You have a parasite in you and I allow you to sink your sickness into me also, just so I can remain strong and keep you safe – and this is how you repay me?” He punctuates his point with a rough boot to Steve’s ribs and he feels two of them snap easily under the pressure, luckily he doesn’t get a punctured lung this time. This isn’t even the half of it, the painful part comes later, when the bones have to re-break so they can set properly and heal, it’s agony.

“Forgive me, Father,” Steve splutters, blood spraying across the tiles he’s staring at. This makes Johann pause, it’s one of the few ways to calm him down, calling him Father. Steve is careful with their uses, knowing the effect will wear off if he over utilises this rare gift of respite.

“I was distracted. I was wishing for more paints and paper, like the ones you got me last year. My mind was elsewhere.” Steve choked. Johann seemed to consider this, not moving to help.

“Those are from the White Mountains, Steven, that’s at least a few days ride there and back,” Johann says disapprovingly, like Steve is the unreasonable one where he bleeds onto the ground.

“It is my birthday next week,” Steve just manages. His ace card. Miraculously, it appears to work. Johann pulls him up and takes him to slump into a nearby armchair, Steve holds in his shouts of pain, Johann never reacts to them well.

“Very well. It is a pleasant journey. Will you be alright here by yourself for so long?” Johann is all concern, a finger delicately tracing his cheekbone and the change in altitude of affection is nothing Steve isn’t used to but it still makes him feel sick. He nods in favour of speaking, terrified of ruining this opportunity for a week alone. Johann smiles at him sadly, finger trailing down over Steve’s shirt to where his scar lies and Steve holds his breath on instinct, only releasing it when Johann finally gets up and turns away.

He begins collecting things for his journey, mercifully not asking Steve to help him. His broken ribs are begging to be re-set but Steve can’t until Johann has left.

“Do you have everything you need?” Steve asks when Johann has a bag packed and secured over his shoulder.

“Yes – are you sure you can manage alone?” He replies and in a wild moment of pain-induced abandon, Steve wants to run forward and shove him from the window, yelling he’d be alone for all time rather than endure another day with this wretched man. He shook himself, shocked. Johann had saved him, saved his life, what was he thinking? He really must be a monster.

“Yes, I’ll manage.” He coughs slightly but his reply seems to suit Johann fine.

“Alright, well come along, lower me down.” Johann climbs to window’s ledge and Steve’s heart sobs as he lurches up, biting down his pain as he walks as normally as he can to the window. He lets Johann kiss both cheeks before gripping the rope uncertainly. He only lets his face contort into pain when Johann has completely disappeared from view. As Johann gets lower, Steve allows a few whimpers to escape, tears chasing them, loud gulps and a few wracking sobs, before finally the tension on the rope eases and he quickly tugs it back up.

He waits, as always, to wave Johann off as he reaches the vines. The second he is gone Steve crumples against the wall, readying himself to break and heal his own ribs. He glances to the cupboard holding the stranger to give him some strength before forcing the internal snap, screaming and sobbing.

It’s an hour later when he pulls himself from the floor – choking down angry sobs that linger, he’s done focusing on pain. This man could be his way out, who knows? He’s a distraction either way. From Johann’s terrifying hands, from his own weak body that betrays him, from the poison that flows in his bloodstream. This is new. It will taste new in his mouth when he speaks, when he sees, when he hears the stranger’s voice. He has to hear it. It’s a sudden desperation, to hear this anonymous miracle’s voice. Confirm he’s not alone, he has power, distorted and broken as he is, he could be seen. Really seen.

He scrambles up, face still blotchy and swollen but steadily fixing itself. Sam reappears from somewhere and Steve forces himself to concentrate. Whoever this man is, friend or foe, he’s a someone. The first ever someone Steve has ever had the pleasure to meet, mistrust, listen to, fear, laugh with, whatever happens, this is it, and this is the first. His heart starts to thud angrily, demanding attention, demanding caution that Steve can’t slow down to consider. His hand shakes as he lifts the latch on the cupboard door. He and Sam scatter in time for the stranger to swoop face first into the stone floor and Steve winces for him. Poor guy. He’s hit that floor – it hits back.

All of a sudden maybe this isn’t such a good idea. He glances up at Sam who is hovering above his right shoulder, he can’t decipher the bird’s expression but it’s obvious he’s in too deep for anything else now. He steels himself, he has the pan after all, and tentatively nudges the man’s shoulder. When he doesn’t respond, Steve kneels slowly and peers down to look at his face. Again – surprisingly pleasant, not threatening. A memory presents itself. It’s Johann, warning him of men with pointy teeth, he even drew a particularly frightening diagram and spoke in tones to indicate he was incredibly serious.

He decides to do this properly, stop tip-toeing around what may as well be his captive at this point – now there’s an exhilarating thought, he probably shouldn’t be so excited at something that makes him a criminal. He blames the isolation. That thought is his favourite twisted joke and a strangled laugh falls out of him despite himself. Sam makes a tweet of disapproval and Steve clears his throat. That’s right – there’s a job to do. He easily rolls the man over so he’s lying on his back and tilts his head up, leaning over him precariously. Using one hand he parts the man’s lips and fearfully squints in to look at his teeth.

He nearly cries out in relief. Perfectly normal teeth, though there are still noticeably some differences between his own teeth and the stranger’s. Curious. He’d never put much thought into teeth. Johann doesn’t smile with teeth much and when he does, Steve is compelled to look away. He swipes his thumb over the edge of two front teeth and freezes when the man’s eyes open, staring at a spot over Steve’s shoulder. For a ridiculous 3.5 seconds they remain completely still and then the stretch of time screeches to a halt when the man releases a hoarse yell of protest and shock. He flails, his eyes darting madly as if trying to find an exit.

He’s strong, a pulse of electricity soars through Steve when he has to forcibly hold the man down and for the first time in his life finds it slightly difficult. And the man is not happy about it. He snarls and kicks out, bringing a knee up into Steve’s gut which winds him but doesn’t loosen his grip. He learns quickly, kneeling on the man’s thighs, hands tight around his wrists, pinning him to the ground. The stranger’s startled angry eyes are a stormy seafoam colour and look ready to tear him apart for a second until they cloud over with confusion.

He pushes straight up through his wrists, a stupid manoeuvre and he hisses at the pressure that doesn’t ease up. His eyes narrow in suspicion and then widen in pure shock – not fear though, oddly enough.

“How is your hold on me so strong?” He growls and Steve’s stomach flips. This is happening – they’re not even introduced and he’s asking for Steve’s deepest darkest secret. Sam’s tweeting sounds mysteriously like ‘you’ve always been crappy at keeping secrets’ and Steve shoots him a look that says ‘but I always keep my promises’ and Sam nods his tiny head, that much he can’t contest.

“Hey, answer me!” The stranger barks and Steve starts. His voice is low and fearsome but smooth and a little catching, like he’s had to shout a lot recently. Steve clears his throat awkwardly, the distance of their faces making his begin to flush with nerves.

“I’m strong.” He embarrasses himself with the squeak this escapes him in. The man narrows his eyes and a smirk rises onto his lips – it’s bewildering, Steve’s never seen anything like it. One of a kind.

“Sure you are, blondie.” His tone is mocking but his eyes are uncertain, after all, he still can’t move. His nickname makes Steve’s brow furrow but he doesn’t want to get caught up in that. After everything Steve has been through, hiding himself away, Johann’s beatings, and now capturing a real life person and this guy had the nerve, from his position pinned to the ground, to question his strength. He huffed angrily.

“Try and get up.” Steve challenged, proud with how strong his voice is now.

“What?” The man snaps, eyes still darting here and there, a gulp in his throat Steve doesn’t miss. His fingers have that itch to draw again where they are gripping the man’s pulse points on his wrists.

“Try. To. Get. Up.” Steve instructs through grit teeth and the other man’s eyes narrow again. Steve already doesn’t like that, it definitely means mistrust. Under his fear and curiosity and nerves, he had been desperately hoping to make a friend, a real person friend, someone who would take him to see the floating lights.

The man takes the challenge, his face goes red from how hard he tries. He even shocks Steve as he manages to raise his arms just slightly off the floor but Steve exerts extra pressure and they crash back into the ground – luckily the man’s hands are gloved or they likely would have got badly scraped up.

“How is this possible?” He sounds different now, not as angry anymore. He looks at Steve and his eyes flicker down his body, assessing somehow. From how they are positioned, he can see Steve’s chest from where his shirt is dipping and the large mottled scar above his heart is surely visible. This is confirmed when the man’s eyes return to his so quickly and Steve cringes but the eyes he sees are... sad. He stops feeling any fight and the man sets his expression, opening his closed fists to show he’s going to play nice.

“Okay, I can’t fight you – let me up, will you?” He asks, tone still tinged with some suspicion but his eyes just look tired now, and curious.

“You won’t run away?” Steve asks, hating how childlike his voice sounds but he’s terrified this guy will bolt and he’ll have lost his chance to freedom. The man watches him carefully. Beyond carefully, it’s like he’s seeing beyond the surface and picking away at what’s inside, it makes Steve want to squirm out of sight but he holds strong. After a few moments, the stranger shakes his head slowly.

“I won’t run.” He allows and Steve nods, relieved and releases his hold.

He barely registers the change until he’s slammed down onto the hard stone with the other man forcing down his wrists and thighs much like he was a moment ago. He cries out at the pain that courses down his spine, through his thin woodpick wrists and digging into his upper legs. He manages to open his eyes and sees surprise written all over the stranger’s face, now hanging over him, his hair falling over his face a little. Steve could throw him off but he has the upper hand now and though Steve’s strength is superior, his body isn’t – he’d break his wrists in the process.

“What’s wrong with you?” The man questions and Steve winces at his choice of words – willing his eyes to not fill up with tears like they infuriatingly always want to. He stares defiantly up into the man’s eyes and his breathing is heavy as unauthorised gasps of pain sneak up his throat, seemingly only confusing the man more.

“That... that hurts,” He breathes and the stranger lets go instantly, his face falls slightly as he backs away. Is that shame in his expression? It clears quickly whatever it is. Steve sits up and backs away what he deems an acceptable distance, eyes glued to the stranger’s. He circles his fingers around his wrist, both are bruised in furious blushed purples and blues and he can see the stranger frowning at them.

However, the man seems to come back to himself. His eyes wake up some, blue becoming electrified and he’s frantically looking around the room. Steve is still recovering but he remembers the satchel he hid and instantly wishes he hadn’t. He’s never been a good liar, and his secret knowledge is obviously clear as day on his face as the other man hones in on it and marches over.

“Where is it?” There is a desperate foundation somewhere in his voice but his expression is stern and unforgiving. Steve stumbles to his feet, closing some of the distance between their eye lines but still looking up to meet the man’s eye.

“I need your help.” Steve plants his feet, trying to make himself look as big as possible, like he’s a proper person. The man regards him for a moment, confusion morphing into annoyance now.

“I don’t help. Where is it?” He repeats, his eyes warning Steve against trying his patience. His eyes are very expressive, Steve notes absently.

“A... a deal, then.” Steve stammers, thinking on his feet before this goes any more pear-shaped.

“Answer the qu–”

“A deal!” Steve cuts him off, more sure now.

“You take me where I need to go and I give you your... thing.” Steve finishes, trying not to gasp his breath and sound calmer than he feels. The other man takes a threatening step forward, towering over him, it’s a clear intimidation attempt – Steve is sadly very acquainted with this technique only this time he’s determined not to break. He doesn’t owe this man any loyalty, unlike with Johann, he can and will fight back. No bullies. Sam tweets in solidarity somewhere next to him and it gives him fortified strength. _No bullies_.

“Or I break you and take what’s mine anyway.” He says slowly, dangerously and Steve’s gulp is loud. The man’s mouth twitches. Steve throws on his best scowl.

“We’ve already established I’m strong – stronger than you. You break me – I get back up. I break _you_ – you don’t get back up.” He spits with impressive ferocity, stepping forwards. _Yes, Steve, this is good_ , he thinks. This is working. No point playing shy with this one. And before he can cut in, Steve carries on.

“And I can promise you, you could tear this tower apart, brick by brick – you’d never find it.” Adrenaline is making his voice more gravelly than usual but he’ll take it. The surprise that flashes in the stranger’s eyes he quickly masks but Steve caught it and inwardly rejoices. Look at you, threatening a real life person, he thinks hysterically, how extraordinary.

The stranger grinds his teeth and his eyes are a source of fascination in their spontaneity, darting here and there and suddenly being focused back on Steve without warning. He’s debating calling Steve on his half-bluff, how long would it take to ransack the place, or maybe how long would it take to kill Steve to rid himself of the problem? Steve just barely keeps down a shudder. He’s made his play already, no way he’s begging for mercy.

Something shifts. Decision made – for better or worse. Steve’s shoulders square in anticipation.

“Help what?” He bites out and Steve’s heart leaps.

“Well, help me – I mean, I, I need a guide, uh, someone to take me to see the, the floating lights,” Steve punctuates his stammering as he reaches to the wall and tugs the curtain back, showing the stranger his painting of the spectacle. It feels horribly exposing to show his most secret artwork to a possibly murderous stranger, but thrilling as well. He doesn’t say anything but his head tilts and the reflection of Steve’s lights in his eyes is really something breathtaking – Steve is entranced.

“Those are the lights for the lost heroson.” Stranger says in his most agreeable voice to date. That’s progress anyway. This new information fills Steve with determination – they’re out there. Hearing someone else confirm this makes him sure, he just has to see them.

“I knew they weren’t stars,” Steve breathes with a bright smile. The head tilt, brow furrow is directed at him now and his smile fades a little under the scrutiny.

“I take you and you give me back my things?” He sounds sceptical and Steve doesn’t understand why. He nods once, absolute.

“Of course, I promise.” The man snorts a laugh of derision and Steve frowns at him, not sure what’s funny but keen enough to sense when he’s being mocked.

“What?”

“You promise?” Yes – definitely mocking. Steve still doesn’t get it.

“Yes. I promise.” He deadpans and the smug look slips from the stranger’s face into one of bemusement.

“And I never, ever break a promise.”

“Yeah, I get it, Blondie.” Stranger sighs but it’s softer, less aggressive which is a relief. Butterflies continue to surge in Steve’s stomach, but they’re growing far more hopeful now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not much of them meeting but i hope this gave you enough context for a start to their relationship - more from bucky next chap.  
> as per, this is the part where i sweet talk you for comments.  
> have a good day, week and general time - see you in the next one, b x  
> ((also sorry about the wait, i'm trying to figure out how regularly i want to post these - suggestions? maybe once or twice a week idk?))


	3. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve & Bucky leave the tower and their world views are very different. Also Sam goes on the offensive, out of love of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hola chaps, sorry this had you waiting but i've been busy with family as i'm going back to uni in 2 weeks. ((lol i need to be up in 7 hours to go hang gliding it's been an odd week)) i've decided i want to stay 3 chapters ahead with writing this so hopefully even if i have a slow writing week you'll always get an update! really enjoying myself writing this, hope you enjoy reading it too! thank you for the lovely feedback and kudos! okay enjoy x

Bucky was itching with the feeling that he was doing something stupid. Helping some random kid, who’s apparently not a kid but just small enough to trip Bucky up because the universe is a bad-humoured cow like that. Helping him rather than just killing him, getting the crown and skipping this town and several towns more until he’s out of dodge. But no, he’s choosing to have a new life so he doesn’t have to kill anymore, non-lethal where at all possible. No collateral damage. People are people – every life is a life, not a number, not a lost piece of machinery, nothing less than a life.

And something about the way this kid was... How he looked at Bucky. Like he was some kind of saviour. Painfully ironic, but Bucky just couldn’t bring himself to turn the guy down. From an objective, tactical approach – the kid’s a disaster. All big eyes and _I promise_ and oh did you say we’re friends I guess it must be true. From a non-objective point of view, it’s annoyingly endearing and worrying in equal parts. His family must get worried sick about him, trusting any passer-by with his valuables because they gave him a smile. Ridiculous.

And that’s without the freakish strength from this tiny pocket rocket. Any takers to explain that one? Asks the maybe centuries old, one-armed, amnesiac deep-freeze super spy/soldier. Maybe he oughtn’t throw stones.

Sure, he could knock the kid out, raid the tower and find the crown, but... But he wanted a new life. A new life meant avoiding choices he would’ve made in the old one. The old, mind-wiped objective-driven Bucky wouldn’t have hesitated incapacitating the tiny guy. Maybe the new Bucky should go on a misadventure with a feisty suspect rocket-fuel addict to see the goddamn floating lights. Because that’s this guy’s idea of living – and isn’t that just... warm and warped.

Bucky had agreed and was leaning over the edge of the window, enjoying the alien rush of vertigo as he gazed into the lush field below.

“I’ll lower you down,” Blondie crows from his right shoulder, a little too close. For a split-second Bucky cocks an unimpressed eyebrow, but then, oh, right, yeah. Lower away little mighty minion. Slightly unnerving, but the rope doesn’t falter on the trip down and he’s dusting himself off and admiring the scenery again in mere minutes. He turns and is surprised to not see the three foot wonder down at his ankles. Squinting up and competing with the sunlight, he spots the kid perched on the window ledge and even from down here he can see the guy’s eyes are like saucers.

“Get down here, punk!” He yells, impatient.

“Shut up, jerk!” He retorts, panic creeping into his voice and Bucky snorts at his insult.  

“Getting old down here!” He shouts, humour in his tone. He perhaps has too many private jokes with himself, still, who else does he have to be hilarious to? The guy doesn’t respond but the rope lowers so Bucky figures he got his point got across. He doesn’t have to wonder for long as Blondie speeds down the rope at a rate that makes Bucky wince and fist his flesh hand, friction burns are unforgiving. The blond stops on the rope inches from the floor, clinging to it like it’s all that’s keeping him alive.

“This is the part where you get off?” Bucky huffs but it’s not like he’s in a huge rush here.

“I...” The kid’s eyes are blue bulbs of warning and it’s kind of hilarious now. What’s wrong with this guy, is he agoraphobic? That’s rough. He probably wouldn’t have made it this far down though. Allergic to grass? Now that’s impracticality at its finest. As far as he can see, the guy is just scared. Or, wait, that’s fear and something else. What’s going on in his head? Bucky’s curious now, it’s like everything the blond dude thinks flits across his features – has no one ever mentioned the art of a poker face?

He clears his throat and Bucky sees his little arms flex and his _bare_ foot (for fuck sake) reach for the grass beneath him. It’s like he never goes out. He startles with the little guy when his foot reaches the grass. The blond starts laughing as his foot experiments with the grass and then he lets go completely and flops over onto the grass. He starts rolling around, running his fingers through it and his laugh gets louder and choked up. Bucky’s a little freaked out now.

“Now I might run.” He mutters, eyeing the guy warily. Possibly deranged, he notes into his mission log somewhere in the back of his brain. Seeing as it won’t turn off, he might as well make use for it. But when he speaks the guy looks up and he’s got a fierce expression, passionate in such an unexpected way.

And then he’s off.

He’s running, no, sprinting across the expanse of the field towards the vine tunnel. Arms pumping, leaning forwards like he’s goddamn aerodynamic, which he might as well be, Bucky notes, as the guy is _fast_. He feels the inane urge to run after him but forces himself to walk, let’s not get wrapped up in this guy’s crazy. Exiting the clearing and reappearing into the thick of the forest is a little disorienting but manageable. For him at least.

The little blond guy is just staring. His face is just pure awe, untouched and Bucky shakes his head. How is this kid real? And then, if there were any doubt in Bucky’s mind that this guy has little to no social skills, he starts clambering up a tree, swinging from branches and howling in delight. Staring doesn’t seem to be making it look any less weird, but it is kind of funny, maybe.

After a few minutes he misses a swing and falls from the treetop he was throwing himself off of. Bucky stutters a half-step forwards, he’s seen falls like that and a guy this size surely he–

He’s up and grinning and goddamn fine. Off splashing in a nearby stream. What the hell is happening, Bucky grates inwardly.

The guy picks flowers, makes daisy chains, befriends goddamn animals, sings (nicely, shut up), crawls, jumps, runs, climbs and Bucky’s exhausted just watching him. But he doesn’t stop him, he doesn’t say a word. For once, he’s not the oddest person in the perimeter, and it’s funny. What a change humour is. He hasn’t just watched someone for not-surveillance/mission purposes since... since ever? He doesn’t know, or he does know and can’t remember. They’re one in the same. Sitting with his back against warm oak, watching someone just run around blissfully uninhibited, bursting with energy and that smile that only seemed to grow. Somehow, it was relaxing.

He’s not sure when he stopped paying attention but suddenly the blond drops in front of him face flushed and eyes lively with exertion, a smile still playing havoc with his lips. Bucky just raises an eyebrow.

“You done with your little rebellion?” He drawls from where he’s sat, legs and arms crossed. The other guy’s face drops slightly and a little crease arrives between his brows.

“Rebellion?” He repeats breathlessly and Bucky’s eyebrow is raised again.

“Rebellion.” The blond says again but this time something grave sinks into his voice and Bucky juts watches as he starts stepping back, raking a hand through his hair, the other gripping around his body, his eyes glued to the ground.

“I... Oh my god, what am I doing?” He chokes, eyes flicking back up to Bucky, his gulp truly something to behold. Suddenly, he’s a bag of nerves and Bucky’s reeling a little from the mood change but stays seated and silent, waiting to see what he’ll do. Hey, he’s curious.

“Johann would _die_ if he knew I was doing this – he’d kill me first,” Blondie mutters and Bucky’s unhappy twitch of the mouth goes unnoticed. Who’s this Johann character and why does Blondie say his name like he’s one of the memory wipe handlers Bucky can vaguely remember being terrified of? He can’t imagine anyone particularly wanting to kill the four foot golden boy but decides to file away the information as he would with any mission.

“But it’s so beautiful,” Blondie carries on, looking and spinning, taking in the leafy canopy and grassy scene surrounding him.

“How can this be wrong?” He breathes sadly and that makes Bucky’s spine straighten a little and his head tilts as his growing curiosity demanded more information. Something about the depth of sadness in his voice – too much for what was happening.

“What’s out here that’s so bad, am I missing something dangerous or horrible or, or painful or–” Blondie’s voice was growing in panic like he was terrified his own judgement was impaired in a way Bucky might have experienced before and something, he’s not sure what, makes him cut the other man off.

“S’ just a forest.”

Blondie’s head spins around back onto him and those eyes are really something, even in panic. He’s gulping down emotion but is seemingly unable to hide anything and Bucky can read him far too easily to be safe. He turns around fully, slowly, his hands fidgeting and it takes Bucky an embarrassingly long time to realise he’s waiting for him to say something more. Ugh. He’s really not here as a comforting presence, he’s a weapon for God’s sake. Still, he can’t not say anything. He’s going to have to make an effort with this guy if he ever wants the crown back and creating a relationship, a mutual respect will probably work in his favour.

“Nothing’s changed. You’re just outside. Probably see things more clearly out of that box in the sky,” He mumbled, eyes unhappily flickering away and back from the other man’s earnest face. Blondie looked puzzled and frightened. It didn’t suit him nearly as well as some of his other expressions.

“But, but I have perspective up there, and protection, and what are the odds of attack up there compared to down here, the percentage must be–”

“Overthinking it, Blondie.” Bucky said, low with a roll of his eyes. The confusion of the other man morphed into something more akin to annoyance and it was miles more amusing to look at. More intelligent by far.

“Blondie?” He snapped, saying it and screwing up his face with distaste.

“Blondie, why call me Blondie? Blondie? ...stupid, _Blondie_ , what even,” He kept trying it on his tongue, getting more displeased and Bucky smirked which made Blondie narrow his eyes.

“Never told me your name,” Bucky shrugged, maybe enjoying himself a little.

“Well, it’s Steven.” He snapped and then scrunched his mouth up.

“Steven.” Bucky replied and Blondie went pale.

“Steve!” He corrected in a yell and prompted another eyebrow raise from Bucky.

“Steve?”

“Call me Steve!” He squeaked.

“Sure thing, Stevie.” Bucky smirked again, awaiting the inevitable outrage but was oddly thrilled to see a rush of scarlet climb the guy’s neck and cheeks. Interesting. So he was easy to embarrass, but it still somehow felt just as fun as pissing him off. That’ll be something to experiment with to pass the time, Bucky thought to himself smugly.

He climbs to his feet slowly, brushing himself down and folding his arms facing Steve. He just stared back expectantly and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Are we going, or you going back up to your ivory tower, princess?” He snarks and Steve glares at him.

“We’re going to see the floating lights.” He snaps adamantly and Bucky smirks making Steve clearly rethink his words.

“And hey, don’t call me that!” He says finally and Bucky snorts before walking away, reluctant but definite in the direction of the kingdom.

He hears Steve scramble to catch up with him and they walk in companionable silence for a while. He glances over to Blondie and sees his head up and he’s just grinning, gazing up at the trees and the sky. This kid is a disaster waiting to happen. He has no idea how to handle himself and at this rate it could easily get the two of them killed.

Bucky sticks out his leg sharply, easily tripping Steve and then, with his gloved metal arm, catches him just before he hits the floor and yanks him one-handedly back onto his feet. Steve, having yelped and scrambled, clung to Bucky’s arm until he yanked it away.

“What did you do that for?” He squawked, looking surprisingly shaken up.

“You’re hopeless,” Bucky mutters and he’s walking again.

“Hey!” Steve rushes to catch him again, his voice betraying his irritation.

“What’s your problem, that’s dangerous!” He crows and that does make Bucky laugh a little.

“What’re you so scared of, thought if I broke you, you _got back up_ ,” Bucky mimics a little cruelly.

“Besides it’s barely a drop to the floor you’re so small.”

“For your information, I meant it’s dangerous to startle me, I could’ve crushed the bone in your arm,” Steve snarls, making a conscious effort to walk a little faster than Bucky even though his body was already protesting. Bucky scoffs, _(no bone to crush in that arm_ , _buddy)_ , shaking his head and Steve grinds his teeth.

They walk a little more in silence and Steve hides the fact he’s out of breath from walking so quickly, swallowing his pride to walk alongside Bucky who seems to be quite happy not talking. Or, not happy, he has this permanent look of concentration or indifference, only interrupted by brief eyebrow raises or snorts of mean amusement. Still, Steve can’t help but itch for his pencils as he steals looks at the set of his shoulders and the rough edge of his jaw.

“You didn’t tell me your name.” Steve says as they reach a change in the treeline, the shapes changing from thick and wide to taller and the branches reaching in more wild patterns.

“Correct.” Bucky snarks and Steve resists the urge to shove him.

“Listen, I’ve made the decision to trust you –”

“A horrible decision, really –”

“But to do that properly, I need to know who I’m dealing with.” Steve explains simply and Bucky considers him for a moment, liking the way he said ‘who’ and not ‘what’. He’s a person. It’s a reminder. He felt the strange urge to thank Steve. As weird a compulsion as it was, it was a nice one to have. Still, it’s also just a reminder that Steve really has no clue who or what Bucky is and has been up until recently and if he knew, he’d probably be hightailing it back to his tower and boarding the damn place up.

“You have no idea who I am,” Bucky means it as a statement of fact but it comes out bitter and harsh and Steve flinches back, misunderstanding. It wasn’t directed at him but how was he to know? Steve backs off a bit and Bucky feels the gap between them becoming more pronounced, so much for trying to maintain a relationship. Come on, Barnes.

“It’s Bucky.” His throat is thick and it makes the words sound alien to his own ears. When was the last time he introduced himself?

“What’s lucky?” Steve asks, sounding unhappy and Bucky sighs and stops walking. Steve only notices after a few moments and turns, hesitantly walking back to where Bucky is standing awkwardly. His hands are fidgeting before he holds one out and clears his throat.

“Bucky Barnes, good to meet you,” He meets Steve’s eyes cautiously, guarding his expression. He needs to do this – practice the normal human bits of everyday and get back into it even though this feels weird and if Steve doesn’t shake his hand soon he’s going to burrow into the Earth and stay there.

“Good to meet you too, Bucky,” Steve responds and grabs hold of Bucky’s hand, beaming at him in a way that makes Bucky relax. He goes to shake Steve’s hand but as soon as he moves his hand Steve drops it and Bucky laughs, confused. It might be the first real laugh he’s let out in a while, short lived as it was.

“What?” Steve still looks happier which is good at least. Whatever. Bucky grabs his hand again and shakes their hands which makes Steve laugh unabashedly, more enthusiastically than a handshake should induce really.

“What are you doing?” He questions, staring at their hands interlocked, like this is an odd game.

“It’s a handshake, Blondie.” Bucky explains like he’s talking to a two year old.

“Handshake?”

“Yeah, it’s how you greet people, kinda’,”

“Huh. Never knew that.” Steve admits freely, excitedly like this new knowledge means a lot to him. Maybe it does. God, he’s weird, Bucky thinks to himself with amusement and they start walking again.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

This is quite possibly the best day of Steve’s life. Or at least the most exciting by far, no contest there. And the most confusing. And scary, in a different way to how he feels when Johann gets angry, this is scary in a way that everything feels huge and like he could be swallowed up at any moment. Is that how everyone feels all the time? Maybe that’s why Bucky is so snarky.

Still, he’s slipped up a couple of times in his ‘I’m angry and anti-social and will hurt anyone who comes too near’ act. The handshake, somehow, has been the highlight of Steve’s day. He’s seeing the whole world, finally, but Bucky gripping his hand and looking at him with a tiny bit of fondness and amusement made everything pale a little bit in comparison and his hand felt tingly, which was ridiculous of course.

Something tweets next to his ear and he gasps in delight at the sight of Sam fluttering by his head.

“What? What is it?” Bucky mutters and he looks ready to fight someone and, oh.

“No, no, everything’s fine, I just, it’s Sam! I’m so happy to see you, buddy!” He laughs happily and Bucky relaxes visibly in his peripheral vision and Steve grins watching Sam do loops through the sky.

“Sam?” Bucky asks, sounding doubtful as he glances between Steve and the robin flying around him.

“This is my friend, Sam.” Steve introduces proudly and Bucky looks at him like he’s insane.

“This is... your friend... Sam,” Bucky says slowly, clearly doubting Steve’s mental capacity. Steve rolls his eyes and drags Bucky over.

“Stop that,” He says quietly.

“Stop what?”

“You’re being rude,” Steve admonishes and Bucky frowns.

“I, I am?” Steve nods, eyes wide and disapproving.

“Uh, right, sorry, hey... Sam,” Bucky says half to Steve half to Sam. Sam is making Steve grin with a show of loops and twirls in the air and Bucky looks less than impressed. Suddenly, the bird nose dives and slams into Bucky’s eye and shoots off again as Bucky yells in pain.

“Sam!” Steve gasps, horrified.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t think he likes you,” Steve gushes, shocked that Sam would be so rude to his guide.

“And he’ll like me a lot less in a minute,” Bucky growls.

“No, no!” He tugs Bucky gently by the hand and he only flinches for a second before he lets Steve pull him away, glaring at Sam as they go. Sam tweets something that sounds obscene in Bucky’s direction and Steve cuts in as Bucky opens his mouth to retort.

“I’ll deal with you later!” Steve yells over his shoulder.

He turns back to Bucky with an apologetic smile on his face, hoping he hasn’t just lost his guide. Bucky’s left eye is scrunched up and streaming with tears, an angry red around it. Sam must have really dug his beak in. _Please, please, don’t let it be damaged_ , Steve begs to any higher forces in the world that might be listening.

“Let me see it,” Steve says softly and Bucky frowns and leans away, eyeing him with a new suspicion and Steve’s heart sinks, worrying that any progress they’d made to trusting each other had disappeared.

“It’s fine.”

“Well then you won’t mind me looking at it, will you?” Steve snaps and Bucky relents.

“Little bastard’s probably blinded me,” He grumbles and Steve scoffs.

“Thought you said it was fine,” He snarks and Bucky shuts up. Steve takes this as his cue to go ahead.

Slowly and carefully he goes onto his tiptoes and delicately prods around Bucky’s eye with the pad of his finger. Bucky doesn’t flinch though Steve suspects he’d like to. He has some trouble ignoring Bucky’s other eye which is trained on him, watching his every move and with their faces so close it’s unnerving.

“Can you open your eye?” Steve asks and Bucky looks like he wants to make a snide comment but decides against it and slowly and begrudgingly opens his eye. The blue is swimming in the unshed water and unthinkingly Steve leans slightly closer, not noticing the way they both stop breathing, and swipes away some stray eyelashes. Bucky jolts and staggers backwards and Steve nearly falls over from the sudden change in movement but rights himself.

He can feel the flush on his face and clears his throat, hoping Bucky won’t take any notice.

“It’s fine, Sam’s beak just scratched your eye a little, sorry,” He tacks on the end because he supposes he’s responsible for the actions of his bird friend. Is that how it works? It’s not like Sam can apologise himself, but Steve suspects he wouldn’t even if he could. Who knew he was so protective?

“I think he’s a little wary of you, that’s all. He, uh, he doesn’t like it when I get hurt.” Steve excuses quietly and Bucky squints at him a little. If he’s analysing Steve or just still in pain remains unclear until he speaks.

“He see you get hurt often?” Bucky asks and he has played an ace with that one. Steve shifts uncomfortably on the spot. He desperately doesn’t want to lie to Bucky but he can’t tell him about Johann. He wouldn’t understand that it’s Steve’s fault when it happens and it doesn’t even matter because he can heal himself.

“I, no I, he just... he, I meant, I meant he doesn’t want to see me get hurt, he wouldn’t want that... is what I meant,” Steve stumbles. Nice. Really convincing, Steve, no really, good job. Bucky is so obviously not buying it but thankfully, mercifully, he doesn’t push it.

“Well, he sure seemed to enjoy hurting me.” Bucky huffs and Steve leaps on the opportunity for the change in subject. And to make amends so he doesn’t lose the one person willing to help him to see the floating lights.

“Right, Sam!” He calls and within a moment Sam is fluttering around his head and he’s a little less enthusiastic now so Steve figures he probably sees he’s overdone it.

“I don’t know what makes you think you can hurt my friend when all he’s done is help but I’m so disappointed in you.” He scolds and Sam noticeably droops in the air.

“He’s not here to hurt me, he’s good, he’s a friend, okay? He’s nice.” Steve laughs a little, trying to lighten the mood and he glances at Bucky to see him with a strange expression, like he wanted to be happy about what Steve was saying but couldn’t. It was strange and Steve didn’t like it, it didn’t suit him. Sam at least seems to be over the whole ordeal and goes to flying in orbit around Bucky’s head, examining him before at last perching himself on his shoulder, satisfied Bucky was not a threat. Steve laughs loudly at the sight of an incredibly bemused Bucky with tiny robin Sam sat next to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, he likes you!”

“Changed his tune quickly,” Bucky mutters suspiciously.

“He’s got a good heart, like you. You two will be good friends, I know it.” Steve says with surety and Bucky is staring at him again.

“What?”

“You trust too easy.” Bucky says unhappily and Steve laughs again as they start walking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly these two bouncing off each other is such fun to write, i hope it came across as them attempting to interpret each other from very different perspectives. expect the next chapter hopefully in a couple of days!  
> the part where i sweet talk you for comments, have a lovely day also and week and keep creative lovelies! b x


	4. Boundaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both have issues, pasts, but it's starting to affect the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shall we talk about how i'm on time? and how last chapter got no comments and i could have cried - though in fairness maybe that's kinder than telling me 'm8 sorry to break it to you but wtf was that??'  
> ANYWAY - i'm actually loving writing this and i'm still ahead on chapters - excited to play w/ the characters in different ways. i go back to uni next weekend so i'm getting lots done now. hope you enjoy!

They’ve been walking for most of the day when Bucky notices that Steve is dragging his feet. He glances over and Steve has a delicate pinch to his eyes as he watches the trees still, clearly trying to enjoy himself despite something. Bucky can’t help but think back to Steve’s earlier words ‘ _He’d kill me first._ ’ Was this man a real threat, should Bucky be more careful watching their rear perimeter?

“You worried about that Johann guy?” Bucky asks, tone neutral but Steve’s head snaps to him and he flounders.

“What, no, no of course not, I mean yes, I am worried about him in general, we’re... we’re...”

“What?”

“ _Family_.” Steve grits out and his fists are balled for some reason and his eyes are on the ground which, historically, isn’t right.

“Family?” Bucky repeats and Steve’s glaring daggers into the grass he’s stomping through now, his jaw working.

“Yes, family,” He spits.

“I have a family, I’m not some wayward nobody.” He continues and misses Bucky’s harsh flinch at his words.

“I didn’t say you were.” Bucky says defensively and he’s not sure why this matters, but it does, a little at least. Something isn’t sitting right here. Blondie is angry, he shouldn’t be. That’s as far as Bucky could get with this. In any case, he snorts derisively at Bucky.

“You didn’t have to, you were thinking it.” Steve grinds and Bucky feels his hackles rise. He’s had people in his head, it’s not a joke and it’s not allowed. Not ever again.

“What, you got super mind reading skills along with that strength now too?” He says venomously and Steve whirls around on him, eyes alight. They’ve both inadvertently stepped into dangerous territory but neither can back down to this kind of challenge.

“You don’t know a thing about me, about what I can do,” Steve seethes and Bucky steps forward, his old training making his hand itch for the dagger wedged into his boot.

“Dropping the act, are we? Fine. I know threats, Blondie. Let me tell you now they won’t fucking work on me. They help. Them, I understand.” He says quietly, anger simmering fresh in his eyes and something akin to remorse flickers across Steve’s face, as if he recognised he’d crossed some unspoken line.

“I... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to threaten you, or, well, yes I did, but I didn’t mean it, not really, I was just angry. Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that, Bucky.” He mumbles and now Bucky feels the whiplash from this junction in emotion. Steve flips from wanting to throw punches to apologies in a heartbeat but Bucky needs a cool down time which he’s trying to do now. It’s hard to stay angry at the guy, weirdly.

And it wasn’t a bluff. Threats were such a constant in Bucky’s life, missing memory and all, they were a means to focus. A classic stick/carrot situation is easy to read. Anger creates determination. Determination eludes to decisiveness. Abusive bastards though his handlers were, they knew how to create a resolute asset. Threats work, they’re settled, weaved into his make up. Then Steve waltzes in and he’s quick to anger but quicker to apologise and quicker still to _smile_. He laughs and cries and yelps and sings like they’re all inherent and maybe they are, to him. It’s enough to spark a little jealousy in the pit of Bucky’s stomach but he can’t help but feel selfishly happy that he can watch as Steve experiences things for the first time.

It’s not Bucky’s first time experiencing things, he knows the sound of the breeze through the trees and the sun on his skin, but it’s tainted by being relearned over and over. He can pretend to Steve that he’s a professional world-goer and he can pretend to himself that he’s the naive wide-eyed first-timer same as Steve. It’s all a pretending act but it’s one he’s choosing. So what if he’s ingrained to respond to threats – he can _learn_ to respond to honesty, humour, the sheer _earnestness_ that seems to be as natural to Steve as breathing.

“You’re...” He’s trying to choose his words carefully and Steve is watching him, the anger fading from his eyes thankfully but something else is keeping them dancing.

“You confuse me.” Bucky manages and it’s the most honest he can be.

“I... what–”

“You looked nervous or, uncomfortable, I thought it might be because, just earlier, you mentioned that guy.” Bucky explains, shifting his weight from foot to foot, not looking at Steve now, training his eyes on the suddenly fascinating splashed skyline, tracing the set of the sun with his eyes.

“Oh, I, that’s nothing. Johann is... he’s just, it’s complicated,” Steve huffs a nervous laugh that falls flat and he’s the one not making eye contact now.

“I’m hungry.” Steve says a little louder, sounding almost relieved that he’d found a way to change the subject. This does its job in distracting Bucky.

“Hungry. Right. Uh, I know a place, you can eat.”

“And you. You must be starving, too.” Steve pushes and there’s that invading warmth that comes with Steve’s tone and his damn melty eyes again. Bucky can’t identify what it really means but it doesn’t feel _bad_ as much as involuntary and he’s still getting out of the habit of thinking everything he doesn’t choose must be evil. Some things are just beyond his control.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I could eat.” He says and then smiles a little because that’s what this was all about. He’s setting his own terms, making little decisions at his own pace, for himself. It helps that Steve smiles back, unaware to his inner turmoil, just happy to return a smile. This guy.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

“This is the place?”

The establishment could probably patent the word ‘shady’. It appears to be a renovated factory building with an attempt at a cottage feel with thatched roofing that has clearly been set on fire before from the singed blackened edges around holes and dips. Part of the guttering is hanging loosely around the cracked window which has that fogged look that seems to accompany places you simply don’t want to look inside. The door looks slightly busted, its hinges complaining with every movement of the wind. Deep maroon paint covering the building is cracked and peeling to reveal an ugly khaki colour underneath it so it appears the place is bleeding a mossy gloop. The lettering has long since fallen and only a ‘H’ and a ‘D’ are visible in crusty besmirched gold script nailed precariously into the walls above the door.

“This is the place.”

Bucky is already walking over and yanking the awkward door open with practiced ease and gesturing for Steve to hurry up and go in. Steve gulps and nervously tugs on the end of his shirt as he walks in.

If he has any natural instincts left despite being raised in captivity (his fun affectionate way of seeing his upbringing) they are making themselves known now. He has never felt such a desperate urge to not even turn but to simply walk backwards and away from anywhere in his life. If he turned he’d be open to attack. As in he might be physically attacked – wild. He wanted to laugh at his own nervous inner monologue but he has some sense.

Walking in had drawn enough attention to them. The archetype patron of HD (whatever it was called) seemed to be large, furious, bearded and worryingly bloodied men with a fun assortment of weapons seemingly appearing from every limb. He bobbed around the tables keeping his eyes straight forward as much as possible. He might be fighting the urge to flinch at every reflective surface but he wasn’t a coward, he had every right to some lunch in this pit of stench and potential sandwiches.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

Okay.

Hear him out.

Maybe Bucky was having a little bit of fun.

Sure, he’s been here a couple of times. He’d found it when he’d been injured on a mission and couldn’t bring himself to report back to HQ just yet and receive punishment for damaging the asset so he’d dragged himself to this place and discovered the wonders of alcohol. It had taken a lot to even get him out of the realms of sober. The whole thing had actually gained him a kind of unspoken respect from other customers due to the sheer amount he could drink so he didn’t have to worry about anyone starting fights with him.

However, the place is dodgy. It always has an assortment of assassins, criminals, nomads and weirdos. And there’s no way he’d have recommended the place to Steve if he were alone but this was an opportunity he couldn’t help but exploit. Steve’s face was a mixture of horror, morbid curiosity and determination. Like he could fight anyone in here. Oh. Actually. Maybe he could.

Bucky watched him a little more closely, wondering how much power was packed into his small frame. That was something he might have to experiment with. Suddenly, Steve turns with wide eyes and he doesn’t look scared so much as shocked, like when you see something and you can’t decide if you actually saw it or if your mind is playing tricks on you.

“That man has a hook.” Steve says woodenly, eyes strictly contained to Bucky. Glancing over Steve’s shoulder he catches sight of the guy by the bar carving obscenities into the wood with his hook hand and Bucky snorts with quiet laughter, smirking at Steve’s expression before a thought washes over him. He straightens and regards Steve carefully.

“What’s so wrong with that?” He steels himself for anything condemning Steve might reply with but it’s unnecessary.

“Is he alright? I don’t want to make him uncomfortable by staring but what if I could help?” Steve asks seriously and Bucky smiles oddly at him.

“That’s nice and all but how could you help?” He asks and Steve turns sheepish mumbling something and Bucky slips up and indulges himself.

“You got a spare hand on you somewhere, pretty sure I get first dibs if you do.” He jokes and instantly freezes, Steve catches it and doesn’t react for a second.

“Why?” He is regarding Bucky with no particular intensity, in fact he looks ready to be annoyed like he’s the butt of Bucky’s joke and he just doesn’t know what the punchline is yet.

“Nothing, forget about it. Anyway, pretty sure he’s kind of attached to the thing now,” He quips to distract and Steve’s mouth twitches as he stifles a smile at the bad joke.

“That’s not funny, Buck.” And he turns and finds a table before he can see the reaction to his nickname but Bucky catches the edge of his smile and can feel his own forming.

“Ah, sure it is,” He mutters to himself smugly as they go to sit down.

A large friendly looking man approaches their table. Well, friendly to Bucky’s standards anyway. By which he means the man has dog fur on his trousers and by his left shoulder meaning he just cuddled a small dog, he has no blood under his fingernails and he stands a metre away from the table when he asks them to order. Steve looks just as happy to see the other man but Steve probably just assumed the guy was nice because, well, why wouldn’t he be?

“What can I get you fellas?” Friendly asks.

“Hi, please could I get a sandwich?” Steve asks with a warm smile and something within Bucky releases as he sees it and he eases back into the chair he’s sat in, loosening his muscles and suddenly feeling just how tired he was. When was the last time he let himself feel weary and focus on it? There’s not even any point asking that question. How long’s a ball of string after you wipe its memory several hundred times?

“Sure, and for you?”

“Nothing for me,”

“Bucky,” Steve starts but Bucky shoots him a smile without even thinking which apparently takes him off guard because he shuts up pretty fast.

“One sandwich for the wild guys in the corner, got it.” Friendly says dryly and he tears the strip from his notebook as he walks away.

“You’re not hungry?” Steve asks quietly and Bucky shrugs wordlessly and lets his eyes fall shut, just listening to the low hum of the other patrons who are being remarkably well-mannered. The sound of Steve tapping away absently on the table mixed with a steady buzz of chatter, scattered laughter and some dim jazz playing in the corner all somehow trick him into letting his guard down and he drifts.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

Steve can’t help watching as he sees the distinct shift in Bucky’s posture from when he’s alert to relaxed and then at last he slips into sleep. Any remaining tension that had been left had poured out of his features and his head lolled the tiniest amount letting some strands of hair slip across his face. His breathing has deepened and once he lets out a tiny sigh and it’s the most calm he’s ever looked.

Steve doesn’t jolt at the feeling of cool steel against his neck because it’s so light it feels like a small itch which he goes to scratch until he hears the light voice in his ear.

“Move and I’ll slit your throat.” The smooth voice is calm and the blade doesn’t shake or waver, a practiced hand. Steve wants to say okay and tell her he has no money or anything of value, she can have his shoes, he’ll help her if she’s in trouble but he doesn’t dare move a muscle so he remains silent.

“Who are you and who are you with?” She asks but Steve has spent too long with not-quite rhetorical questions from Johann and doesn’t trust that she actually wants him to answer just yet.

“Speak.” She says, still calm, still easy like she’s in no rush. Steve’s eyes are fixed on Bucky, willing him to wake up, he would kick him under the table but he feels this woman’s reflexes aren’t something he wants to test.

“I’m Steve, Steve, I, this is my friend, he’s called Bucky, please, you can take me if you want but don’t hurt him, leave him be, I’ll go quietly,” Steve gushes in a hushed voice and he’s not sure if it’s a trick of the breeze or if he felt a huff of air from a light laugh.

The knife disappears and Steve grasps at his throat, keeping quiet as he tries to slow the painful thudding of his heartbeat and concentrates on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. Having an asthma attack probably wouldn’t help him at this point.

“So Steve,” The voice carries a body with it into view as a redheaded woman steps lithely around the table to take a seat to his left. The bar has fallen silent.

“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” She says with a coy smile as she plays with a small dagger and maybe Steve imagines the emphasis on the word neck but he gulps anyway. She flashes a predatory smile.

“Nat, stop scaring Steve.” Bucky sounds aggravated but his eyes are still closed. The woman, Nat, doesn’t even glance away from Steve, just smiles a little softer and tucks the dagger away somewhere so quickly Steve thinks he might have imagined it. How does Bucky know her? She doesn’t seem like someone it’s safe to hang out with.

“Just having a little fun,” She sits back and crosses one leg over the other slowly, still not looking away from him. The noise in the bar starts to return in scattered bursts as it looks like a fight isn’t about to break out.

“What poor soul are you having fun with now?” A light haired man carrying two drinks and a sandwich balanced on the top of one says laughingly as he sets everything down on the table and takes the final seat opposite Nat. He pushes the sandwich at Steve with a wink and starts gulping at his drink happily and his demeanour is a stark juxtaposition to the carefully calculated movements of the woman he’s opposite.

This man is all carelessness, sloshing some drink down his front, drowning some dried food stains already there, his hair is messy and he has some dirt streaked along his jaw and up the side of his face which seemed to be a trail leading to the blooming purple bruise covering his right eye. His fingers were calloused and rough and covered in dusty dirt which he seemed happy to ignore.

His counterpart looked immaculate. Her deep red hair coupled with an attractive face and punctuated with expressive brows made her striking to the eye. Her smile appeared secretive and self-aware, eyes deliberate and guarded. She wore all black and there wasn’t a scratch or piece of dust on her. But the way she held herself and moved, like a dancer, choreographed almost, nothing left to chance, even the way her eyes moved and the gentle tap of her fingertips on the table felt planned. Steve imagined he might have as much confidence as she seemed to exude if he knew every move he was going to make before he made it too.

“Bucky’s friend Steve,” She finally tears her eyes away to take her drink from the table and begins watching Bucky. Steve feels himself quietly relinquish the air he’d been holding captive under her gaze.

“Nice to meet you, man,” The messy man grinned and held out a hand. Steve smiled back – he knew how to do this one.

“Nice to meet you.” He said politely and shook the man’s hand, trying to mimic the way Bucky had done it earlier. He looked over and just caught Bucky’s eyes sliding back shut and a small smirk on his face.

“Name’s Clint, this is Tasha, we’re ninjas.” He shrugged, overly casual and cool. Natasha rolled her eyes at Steve, like they were sharing a private joke. Steve felt a little exhilarated, he’d never had one of those before.

“Clint thinks anyone who wears black and acts shady is a ninja. Because he’s a child.” She takes a pointed sip of her drink and Bucky snorts, looking still relaxed but like he’s listening with his eyes closed.

“Pretty sure if you’ve killed someone you qualify.” Clint scoffs before taking more gulps from his over-sized tankard.

“K-Killed, killed someone? What?” Steve splutters out and Natasha frowns at him curiously as Bucky fixes Clint with a cold stare.

“Hypothetically.” Clint says with a stilted chuckle and then no one says anything for a short while. Natasha is still looking at him, puzzled, and keeps trying to briefly catch Bucky’s eye which he’s shut again.

“Bucky’s been holding out on us – what’s your story, Steve? How’d you two become friends?”

“Who said anything about friends?” Bucky asks but he’s smirking again and Steve is a bit confused and having trouble keeping up with the dynamic between these three.

“Steve did.” Natasha answers simply and Bucky sighs but there’s no anger just annoyance. There’s an easy banter lingering that makes Steve feel like he’s wandered into a circle of friends and he’s the definitive odd one out. Wouldn’t be a crazy hypothesis wherever he went.

“So?” Clint pushes with a smile.

“I, well, Bucky’s taking me to see the floating lights, we just sort of bumped into each other and, uh, became friends.” He finishes lamely. It sounds a little forced to his own ears but it’s a half-truth. He doesn’t feel like explaining to Bucky’s friends that he essentially blackmailed Bucky into taking him where he needed to go and then had the audacity to claim they were friends. He was reminded that Bucky’s here out of obligation really, regardless of what happens. His heart sinks a little at the reminder that he’s alone, no one would actually choose to be his friend.

“I see.” Nat is staring at Bucky though and grinning and there’s obviously a story there somewhere but Steve doesn’t know what their deal is. Maybe they’re together.

“Leave it, Nat.” Bucky says and it’s creepy really, like he can tell exactly what her expression is even with his eyes closed.

“Sure, sure.” Natasha raises her hands in mock-defeat but then immediately turns to Steve with that conspiratorial smile back.

“It’s just Bucky doesn’t make many friends, he doesn’t take well to people in general and here he is out to lunch with the guy he’s helping. You’ve inspired quite the change of heart in him, Steve.” Her eyes dart over and she looks triumphant to see Bucky’s eyes open and glaring at her. He seems to notice too that he’s risen to her goading and huffs in irritation, closing his eyes again and tipping his head back towards the ceiling.

“She’s got a point.” Clint adds.

“Maybe you’re a special case.” Natasha whispers with another flashed smile.

“First time for everything.” Clint continues and Steve’s head is darting between the two of them.

“Steve, you should eat that.” Bucky says and Steve takes a second to realise he’s talking about the sandwich Clint had brought over for him. He feels a little out of his depth and so he nods dumbly and picks up the sandwich. Taking a bite he notes, turkey, nice. This is the first time he’s ever spoken to more than just one person and it’s a little overwhelming.

“And he’s taking care of you. Good to see.” Nat tacks on and Bucky exhales harshly through his nose.

“Does he cook for you?” Clint snarks.

“I hope he cooks for you.” Nat hits back and Steve is starting to edge into the realms of panic. Are they trying to insult him? Did he do something wrong? He glances at Bucky and he’s rigid in his seat and the look on his face is wrong but he’s not saying anything.

“Maybe not though, you’re too skinny to be eating a whole bunch.”

“Drinking enough water?” Nat asks and it’s half-concern half something else.

“Sleeping enough?” Clint is laughing a little and it’s not loud but it’s loud enough for Steve to flinch.

“That’s important, you know?” Natasha says and she sounds deadly serious all of a sudden and Steve is definitely panicking. Bucky’s not saying anything still and Steve doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing, how he should be reacting.

“Does he tuck you in at night, too?” Clint asks and it’s not even unkind but there’s something teetering on provocative and he feels like no one is in his corner at this moment. The old sting of inadequacy takes this opportunity to make itself known and he stares down at his sandwich.

“That’s enough. Back off. Steve’s a friend, I owe him a favour and he’s a good guy, just leave it alone, alright? I don’t want to hear anything bad said about him.” Steve looks up to see Bucky sat straight up, palms on the table, fixing Clint and Natasha in turn with icy stares and they both nod.

“I like you, Steve. You’re a good influence.” Natasha smiles like her point had just been proven and Bucky groans.

“Me too, I was just messing before,” Clint grins lopsidedly at him and Steve smiles back shakily, the instant relief a little dizzying but the elation building in his chest even more so. Bucky just stood up for him in front of his friends. That meant something. ‘ _Steve’s a friend.’_ That means everything.

“Well that’s good or I would’ve had to beat you up, teach you a lesson.” Steve quips and he’s not sure where it came from but he says it quick and cutting and there’s a split-second before the other three start laughing, Natasha and Bucky gently but Clint is all but guffawing and choking on his drink, slapping Steve on the back in approval. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> loved writing that - nat & clint, couldn't help myself and i'll try and put them in later too.  
> my sweet talk for comments needs work but know i appreciate every one & they help me write so much.  
> hope you enjoyed, have a lovely day, week and i'll see you for the next one! b x  
> ((p.s have this lovely spanish chat up line - ¿Te perdiste? El cielo está muy lejos de aquí.))


	5. Icarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Hydra catches up to the boys they have to run. However, getting away isn't so easy. And getting away alive seems even less likely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shall we discuss how i'm 2 days early! the feedback on the last chapter was wonderful + i was super motivated to give you guys more.  
> i'll be honest this chapter was hard to write bc i wanted it to be realistic but quick when you read it bc it happens quickly and isn't dragged out (if that makes any sense?)  
> we will see more of nat & clint ((&sam he's fluttering around dw but he checks in every couple of days))  
> also it might be awful of me but the chapter after this one is possibly my favourite yet that i've written  
> anyway enjoy & let me know what you think!

Bucky listened to the whole scene with some intrigue. The unwelcome flare of his higher instincts had kicked in when he heard faint dull of thuds from somewhere.

He’d always pushed down the extra _abilities_ he had been given when his old handlers had poked around with him in a science lab somewhere. At first it had been nearly impossible to ignore them. The way he’d been able to tell when people were lying to him in how his hair would prickle on his arm and all the way up his back. The way he could hear someone sigh in the next building. The way he knew where to strike each person that could incapacitate them in the most efficient way. Little things, too exact, too specific, random or precise for him to know and yet he did.

It had taken him some time to learn to focus, to compartmentalise and train himself to keep his mind and senses honed in on what everyone else did and ignore the rest. After being encouraged and conditioned to use his enhanced abilities to his advantage on missions, he forced himself to separate _that_ part of him – that belonged to the asset, not Bucky Barnes.

So, when he began to hear the tell-tale thud of a speeding heartbeat, an accelerating heartbeat, an alarm signalling fear, deception, worry, anxiety, stress, he himself panicked a little. It was the first time in months he’d struggled to hear the conversation in front of him and all he could hear was a growing heartbeat that wasn’t his own. He was scared for a moment that it would bring with it the urge to finish its owner off, as it usually did, as it had been trained to do.

But he opened his eyes and all he saw was Steve. It was a miracle really, that he was seeing anything at all instead of the bluish haze that usually accompanied his other senses heightening. Like how some creatures had impaired vision but extraordinary hearing – his body made itself an expert in sense isolation and enhancement.

That was the way he told the difference between the asset and _him_. The asset was cold and isolated and when he beat through he could be warm, if he tried, really hard, he could be warm. And there was Steve. Around his head was the bluish haze threatening to encroach but it couldn’t touch him. Steve must be the warmest thing in the world.  

He didn’t look hurt or angry but he looked... small. Not small in the way he looked stood next to Bucky, small in that he had his eyes on the table and he was gulping and his breathing was a little erratic. Why was that? Come on, Bucky, focus, why is Steve not, not, just not Steve? He grits his teeth a little. Pushing the blue haze back enough to remember they’re at a table with Nat and Clint. They’re talking. Steve is uncomfortable. Clint says something and Bucky senses rather than hears Steve’s heart drop.

“That’s enough. Back off. Steve’s a friend, I owe him a favour and he’s a good guy, just leave it alone, alright? I don’t want to hear anything bad said about him.”

The result is near instant. The heartbeat skips a little and then slows, calms and it all fades into the background and the blue tinge whittles away and Bucky is in the room again. He can talk and laugh and this is incredibly important. He wants to keep this moment, this point of clarification in his mind in case he’s losing a battle to his senses in the future. Maybe Steve can help.

“How long you guys in this neck of the woods?” Clint asks, his drink finished and he’s obviously eyeing up Natasha’s. She raises an eyebrow at the audacity of even his contemplation.

“We’re moving on tonight – gotta’ get on the road.”

“We could come along, just until we reach the next town?” Natasha offers with a warm smile at Steve who looks ready to tell all his secrets should she just say the word.

“Thanks but we shouldn’t really draw attention to ourselves.” Bucky says and Steve makes his confused face – one of his signatures.

“We shouldn’t?” Steve asks and Bucky wants to slam his head against the table.

“Are you calling us conspicuous, Bucky?” Natasha asks with a sly smile.

“No, Steve, we shouldn’t. And yes, you have red hair and he attracts dogs like flies to sh–”

“Alright, we won’t come.” Natasha relents, thoroughly amused.

“One of these days, you’re gonna’ hurt my feelings, Buck.” Clint pouts.

“We can hope.” Bucky mutters and Steve actually looks a little stricken.

“It’s okay, Steve. He loves me really.” Clint winks and Steve grins.

“He does?”

“Don’t listen to these two, Stevie. They’ll fill your head with all kinds of crap.”

“Yeah, Stevie.” Natasha chimes in, a glint in her eye that makes Bucky want to shudder. Luckily, Steve hasn’t seemed to pick up on the odd energy around the table.

However, it’s at that moment that Natasha’s languid stretch freezes and then resumes but it’s insincere. Steve and Bucky both pick up on it. Bucky due to his super soldier experience and Steve due to his experience in the pretence of calm when in fact you’re studying someone’s body language and behaviour intensely.

“Nat?” Clint mutters. So he’s noticed it too.

“Serpent.” She says and it’s so low Steve may not have heard it but Bucky and Clint certainly do. Bucky goes instantly rigid, his hand twitching, ready to grab Steve by the collar and bolt.

“Shit,” Clint mutters and Steve has noticed now. He shifts almost unconsciously closer to Bucky.

“Keep your eye on the ball, Barnes.” Natasha says and the pointed glance towards Steve is missed by no one. Before anyone even blinks Clint and Nat have swiftly risen from their chairs and vanished into the other patrons.

“Bucky?” Steve says quietly, fearfully and Bucky meets his gaze with strength, telling him to be still and silent without words. Steve freezes. Concentrating, he can single out the voices of Hydra agents, questioning people by the entrance. Steve is just looking at him – waiting. If Bucky could have a moment to appreciate that, he would. The fact that were their roles reversed Bucky would have assumed by now it was some kind of trap and scarpered but Steve is waiting for Bucky’s signal. He must trust him. It sends a spike of something to his stomach that he has neither the time nor patience to analyse.

“You ready?” He asks and Steve gulps but he’s nodding and his brows are furrowed and his heartbeat is so damn loud Bucky’s a little distracted for a moment. Again, Steve’s blind faith takes him a second to adjust to, such a contrast to the aggressive give and take and take again world he ran from.  

Bucky stands, twisting so that his metal arm, covered though it is, is out of sight from the guards at the entrance. He walks around the table and Steve gets up, following him without a word. He makes for the back exit, the one into the tunnels Clint told him about the second ever time they’d met and Natasha had smacked him upside the head. It’s behind the bar and through the back under the stairs but the barkeep Friendly is staring at Bucky in a way that’s sickeningly familiar, he’s thinking about what he can use him for.

“You’re wanted.” He says, mercifully hushed but warning colouring his tone. Bucky stares at him, knowing better than to confirm or deny this. Steve is glancing between the two of them.

“Who wants you?” He whispers and Bucky squeezes his eyes shut in frustration. Friendly snorts.

“Who do you think?” He scoffs derisively and Bucky feels Steve bristle.

“I don’t know. You’ve not told me yet.”

Friendly looks to Bucky as if to ask ‘ _is this guy for real_?’ Bucky shrugs hopelessly and Friendly’s face twists into a reluctant shadow of a smile.

“Whoever they are I don’t think they want him as much as you seem to,” Friendly leers and Bucky wants to crawl into a hole in the ground and kindly stay there.

“No, I don’t think they do.” Steve bites back and Bucky is fairly certain his insides can’t take much more of this. He’s shrinking around Steve, trying to hide them both from view of the rest of the place. He’s listening intently to the Hydra agents working their way around the room and resolutely not reading into whatever is being said to Friendly.

“Listen, I need him to take me to the floating lights, it took me long enough to even get him to agree and bring me this far. This might be my only chance _in my life_ to see something magical and pure and I refuse to give it up because other people want him. They can wait their turn. Now, will you let us pass or do I have to make you, sir?” Steve raises an eyebrow when he’s done and really the overall effect was rather impressive. Even without the knowledge that Steve can probably snap this guy in two, Friendly looks taken aback. Then his mouth falters into an amused smirk, he’s just as charmed by Steve as Clint and Nat had been. Incredible.

He doesn’t say a word, just steps aside and Bucky nods gratefully, relieved, dragging Steve over the threshold and making a dash for the secret exit.

“How many people are you going to threaten today, huh? Wonders never cease.” Bucky mutters absently as he checks which tunnel to follow and starts off down it. Steve scurries to catch up with him.

“I think the words you’re searching for are –”

“Thanks, Stevie.” Bucky pulls himself out of his mission mindset forcibly and deliberately to waste the necessary time to throw a smile Steve’s way. Steve’s smile turns bashful, all bitten lip and downturned eyes which somehow makes it weirdly worth it. They spend a few minutes down the tunnel just getting used to the awkward rubble-strewn ground but then Steve appears to chirp up as apparently he deems them sufficiently out of danger.

“So, Bucky, I meant to ask, where are you from?” Steve asks and Bucky nearly winces but resists with an awkward chuckle.

“I’ll spare you the orphan’s backstory, it’s not that interesting anyway.” He smiles at Steve who looks ready to apologise, naturally. “I am interested in yours though, and that was pretty impressive back there.”

“What the big guy?” Steve asks, confused.

“Yeah, him too but I more meant talking to Clint and Nat. They’re fairly hard to handle,” He muttered easily as he tried to remember how long the tunnel went before it let out.

“Are they part of the orphan’s backstory?” Steve asked quietly and Bucky pushed down the rising fear at the mention of his past.

“A little.”

They keep walking and luckily the tunnel is slightly lit with a few torches hanging from the walls every couple of hundred yards. Steve is humming and kicking rocks as they walk when Bucky calms down enough to really allow his grip on his dagger to loosen, realising he's unsure when he even got his hands on it. The thought unnerves him and he tucks it into his back pocket, turning back to Steve, desperate to return to Bucky and not slip back into the asset.

“So, the Johann guy is off limits,” Bucky starts and Steve tenses momentarily before huffing a stilted laugh and nodding.

“And the super strength is...” Bucky trails off and Steve shakes his head adamantly.

“Right. But, I do have a question.”

Steve looks at him as they walk in the low light. Bucky wonders if he said something wrong as Steve seems to be in slight shock.

“A question? Like, about me, a question?” He asks and Bucky nods once. Steve keeps looking at him and Bucky makes sure to keep his gaze, careful that he’s not overstepping and going to ruin whatever tenuous friendship they are maybe somehow forming.

“Uh, yeah sure, Buck. What, what do you want to know?” Steve finally looks ahead of them, walking carefully and Bucky gets it. He’s getting ready to be defensive in case Bucky asks something he can’t answer. Still, he can’t help but hope Steve stays with his trend of complete and ridiculous earnestness.

“If you want to see these lights so bad, why’d you never go before?”

It’s a simple enough question. An obvious one by all rights and it hangs in the stifled air around them. Steve kicks another rock and something in his shoulders shifts. Bucky worries for a moment that he’s triggered that angry defensiveness that might lead to another fight but then Steve looks up at him and even in the bleak glow it could break Bucky’s heart.

However, he doesn’t get to speak because the rock Steve just half-heartedly booted has ricocheted off of the wall and the clatter echoes around the tunnel. In the aftermath of the sound, a low rumble of footsteps can be heard and it’s growing closer. Bucky reaches and grasps Steve’s forearm, ready.

“Bucky?”

The encroaching rumble starts to become a thunder and voices, shouts, weapons being loaded, even from this distance Bucky can tell. Grabbing the nearest torch and stamping it out, Bucky yanks Steve’s arm in the direction of the new darkness.

“We gotta’ run.”

And they do. So fast Steve needs a constant hold to stop him from tripping, his feet unused to such speed and manoeuvring in the darkness. He knocks into Bucky and the walls clumsily and makes sounds of pain about something unidentified but he’s still running so neither man speaks. Every time they come across a torch Bucky expertly whips an arm out and douses the flame efficiently. They still need to be faster. He tries everything not to succumb to the panic of being caught.

If Hydra get their hands on him, they’ll do more than wipe his memory, or even punish him. He’s with Steve, they’d force him to hurt, torture or kill –

None of that. It’s not going to happen. Bucky can do this. He can get them out. Safe. He can do this. They just need to move _faster_.

**_Xxxxxxxxx_ **

Steve can’t keep this up.

Since they started running, the panic, the speed, the relentless never ending pace jumps, he can feel the tell tale contraction of his lungs, the spikes of pain with every breath. He remembers every time he tried to bulk up in the tower and pushed himself too far, clawing at his chest as he heaved on the floor. The panic only making it worse, the terror that this could be it and he’d be betrayed by his own body.

He’s beginning to get spots in his vision, the edges blackening and he can’t feel his fingertips or toes anymore. Legs heavy and sluggish, his head is dipping as he stares at his own feet that he feels oddly detached from. The only real feeling he has is the pressing of Bucky’s hand impossibly tight on his upper arm, and if he concentrates on that his body seems to be doing the rest for him.

“B- Bucky,” He gasps as his vision starts to blur.

“Keep moving.” Bucky grits out and he somehow gets faster. Steve trips and drags on the ground until Bucky shudders to a halt.

“Please,” Steve chokes and Bucky might be holding his head up, he’s not sure, he can just see the blue of his eyes and tries to concentrate on that.

“Okay, alright, sorry, Christ Stevie, sorry, I got you, we need to move,” Bucky says from somewhere that Steve can’t connect to the shape in front of him.

“I can’t,”

“I got you, s’okay,” Bucky sounds out of breath and Steve recovers enough presence of mind to feel the lift of his body and hear the heavy beat of Bucky’s feet against the gravelly ground.

As they move further down the tunnel Steve regains control over his breath, focusing on absorbing the strength of Bucky’s arms that are sure and insistent around him. Concentrating on the smell of rich grass, burnt wood and something electric and unspeakably thrilling, what Steve imagines the clouds smell like when they are holding a building bolt of lightning, waiting for it to strike. Somewhere in his mind Steve knows he’s not thinking clearly but he’d rather focus on the fact that Bucky smells like warmth in a thunderstorm than the ache threatening to crack open his skull.

His vision starts to return and tingling starts in his hands and feet and he can just see the men in the far distance charging towards them every time they run on a stretch of straight tunnel. Watching their speed makes Steve marvel at Bucky, he’s carrying Steve and racing. Suddenly there’s natural light streaming in and they must be approaching the exit.

“Put me down, I’m okay, I’m alright!” Steve croaks urgently and Bucky obliges. His eyes are hard and calculating, Steve wishes he could be that calm.

They finally exit the tunnel and Steve heaves in air, Bucky’s grip still tight on his arm. The light is blinding for a second and they nearly run straight off of the sheer edge.

“Bucky, stop!” Steve screams, gripping his arm and they stagger backwards from the edge. Bucky is puffing out air and holding Steve’s arm with both hands now. He takes a second, nodding to Steve in thanks and it seems to take effort to let go of his arm.

In front of them is a huge ravine, wooden beams holding in an enormous dam across the dry valley that stretches out of view. There are ledges that lead away but none that Steve or Bucky can get to. They both spin around and can just about see the distant but approaching hoard of angry men.  Bucky steps forward and in front of Steve, blocking him from view as he searches for some way out. Steve huffs in annoyance and pushes him slightly to the side and Bucky at least allows him that.

“Who are they?”

“Not our friends.” Bucky mutters as he searches the edges of the cliff on the small platform they are trapped upon. Steve’s not sure he’s seen Bucky this panicked and it’s getting under his skin. There’s nothing in him of the witty, relaxed man he’d been just an hour earlier.

“We’ll have to fight.” Steve said, expecting Bucky to sullenly agree.

“No! They aren’t getting near you!” Bucky barks out angrily. The footsteps are getting closer, crawling up Steve’s spine every time he looks away from the tunnel.

“What, why?” Steve demands, aghast. It’s not like they had any other options here. Plus, Bucky definitely struck him as the sort of man to go out fighting, this was going against his entire image of the man he thought he’d started to make sense of. Bucky whirls on him and Steve fights the urge to step back from the frightening extra edge in his eyes.

“Because I know what they can do to you!” He yells and Steve’s windpipe seems to have something lodged in it. Nothing about this is right. Who can these men be? Why are they after Bucky? What will they do to them if they can’t escape? What could they have done to Bucky before to make him this scared? It’s not even fear, not really, it’s there but it isn’t all-encompassing. Bucky’s angry. He’s furious. Seething and he keeps pulling Steve a few feet away from the tunnel though it makes no difference.

The thought makes Steve’s hands curl into fists. He knows fear from people bigger and manipulative. Bucky has been this complicated, interesting, pleasant presence, obviously kind-hearted, at times funny and always engaging. He was warm and exuded safety to Steve. That he’d been subjected to any awful treatment already was enough for Steve to want to fight but the thought that he’d have to go through it again was too much. They’re running out of time. Judging the distances between their platform and the others, Steve makes a decision.

“Hold onto me.” He instructs and Bucky looks to him in alarm.

“Why?”

“I know it’s not your idea of a good time, but could you please fucking trust me, just this once,” Steve’s voice cracked a little and the curse was overkill but he was determined to get through to the other man, his friend. Bucky eyed him with a reluctant submission and lets Steve grip his forearms.

“What are you –” Bucky starts but Steve digs his hands in hard, plants his feet and lifts Bucky off of his feet in a messy spin, using the momentum to launch him from the platform and letting go of his arms just in time that Bucky lands square on the next platform painfully. He’s instantly on his feet incredulously devastated as he stares over the dangerous stretch of space between the two of them.

“Jesus, Steve!” He cries and Steve at least breathes out knowing he’s relatively safe. Torch light is starting to come to the head of the tunnel and he needs to move, to do something if he’s going to get over to Bucky but it feels hopeless.

“Go, get outta’ here!” He calls pleadingly to Bucky.

“No, not without you!” Bucky bellows and he’s not going anywhere. He could be away by now, running to safety but he’s not moving. When he does start moving it looks like he’s backing off to take a run up.

“N– Buck, no! Just, wait!” He yells desperately. His shoulders are screaming in protest from throwing Bucky over the edge, he suspects he may have partially dislocated his left arm but it’s still moving. The telltale beg to be reset comes from his bones but he doesn’t have time. Rushing to the ledge, he does all he can think of.

He slams one fist into the rock, crying out at the sharp agony but he’s left a handhold. Leaning out precariously over the edge of the rock he punches with his other hand, biting down a shout, a second handhold is made. With just these two he’s shattered several bones in both hands and his knuckles are streaming with blood, ugly wounds with mud and dust caked in them. He winces as he pulls all of his weight up with just his ruined hands and then releases his left arm and punches the rock as far as he can reach. He can recognise the sound of breaking shards of bone and wants to be sick.

Breathing hard through his nose, a mantra of ‘don’t let go don’t let go don’t let go’ resounding in his head like a thudding of drums. Adrenaline spiking at least dulls the pain but it can’t rid him of it completely, especially when he is insisting on breaking already snapped fragile bones in his hands and then hang from them. The disgusting urge to look down almost overwhelms him as his feet dangle dangerously but he resists. Sight tunnel-visioning onto the rock face and his hands he, as quickly as possible, makes his way across the rock.

He doesn’t know if the men are out of the tunnel yet, they must be surely but he daren’t look. He’s too zoned in to recognise gunshots or angry taunts, his brain is taking the sound category and putting it into a box until it’s useful. Risking a glance to the next ledge, Steve is engulfed in relief to see it’s not that far and glimpses Bucky with a gun and he’s on one knee, shooting with one arm, the other hanging limply at his side.

Finally, Steve collapses on the other ledge and the throb that begins to thud in his hands makes him feel like they must have swollen to double their size. Even the breeze is agonising. Suddenly, Bucky is on him, all hesitant hands and he’s frowning so hard Steve wants to reassure him but he can’t speak just yet, choking on stray endorphins. Bucky is pulling him away from the ledge and this platform is huge with dips and climbs, easy to get lost if they are quick but they aren’t being quick and Steve knows the solution.

“We need to hang off the edge, they won’t see us,” Steve rasps and Bucky looks at him like he’s insane and he really genuinely might be. But there’s a few men left and they seem to be debating whether they’ll risk crossing the vertical drop and use Steve’s bloody makeshift climbing wall to get to the pair.

“Steve, your hands,” Bucky breathes and Steve can’t deal with this. He can’t explain that any second now they’ll begin to heal and that this isn’t the time to be overly worrying about his health.

“Buck, please,” He grits out, breath hissing in and out through his teeth as he persuades Bucky with his eyes.

It must work and he’s shaky and his feet aren’t exactly co-operating but they’re moving to a hidden edge. As they duck behind a jagged piece of exposed rock Bucky takes a bullet to his shoulder and grunts as his knees hit the ground. Steve makes a sound of horror but Bucky is already waving him off, mimicking Steve. The only problem was, Steve hadn’t been shot and Bucky didn’t have super healing powers like Steve did.

“Come on.” He bites out and Steve can only do as he says. Ignoring their instincts and lowering themselves, hanging from the cliff Bucky’s face is pinched and he’s clearly working hard to be quiet. Some heavy footsteps can be heard but they are no longer rushed, they’re walking back and forth. They’ve managed to lose them.

Finally, the footsteps disappear along with the words that are in a language Steve doesn’t understand. Bucky releases a pained groan and then his hand lets go from the rock and he’s blinking up at the sky as he clings to the ledge with just one hand. Steve can see a lot of blood.

“Just a little longer,” He whispers apologetically and Bucky doesn’t even acknowledge him, he’s breathing in counts, Steve can tell. Channelling the pain into the rhythm of his inhales and exhales. He’s so pale and his arm begins to shake a little as his eyes are lolling back into his head and Steve panics, wondering if the bullet had some kind of poison on it or if it was a really messy wound. Then Bucky slips with a hoarse moan and Steve’s arm shoots out and he’s clutching Bucky’s hand so tight but it’s already impossible in just these few seconds.

“I’ve got you,” He grunts and he can feel his elbow teetering on the decision of whether to dislocate or not. All he can focus on is holding on and the deathly shade of white Bucky’s face has become. Somehow, he digs deep into himself, finding depths of stored energy that shouldn’t be there, surely he must be burnt out by now but he forces it through their connected arms.

It’s trickier to heal this way, not touching Bucky’s face or having full focus and he would be terrified of doing damage were they not already literally on the edge. His eyes glow a radiant gold and Bucky is kind of staring at him but he’s not fully present. Steve focuses on finding Bucky’s wound and repairing the ripped tissue, clearing the clotted blood, dissolving the shards of bullet, forcing blood flow. His nose is bleeding and he can’t even feel his hands anymore but Bucky’s coming back to himself.

He sucks in a deep, rich breath and seems to relax momentarily before his eyes open a little more. But they’re still too cloudy and Steve can’t tell if it’s worked properly, it’s too little and too much at the same time and he could have ripped a new wound he has no idea.

“Steve,” Bucky sounds confused, like he could be dreaming and is slowly gaining lucidity.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes agonisingly and his elbow pops and with a yell, Bucky’s hand releases his and he falls with a scream that echoes Steve’s.

He plummets and Steve screams so loud and hard that he blacks out. Maybe he’s falling. Maybe he already fell and all of his bones shattered and he’s died and maybe it’s all over. Maybe he’s forever clinging to the cliff edge as punishment for letting Bucky fall. What does it matter? He let Bucky fall. What does anything matter now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, that happened.  
> sorry for the drama - i'm moulding the characters and the worlds together so hopefully it works and keeps you on your toes a little, but dw, it's still a tangled au!  
> please let me know what you think, love to hear from you and will reply. (ty again for last chapter's feedback, amazing!)  
> next chapter up in a week or likely sooner with how fast i'm writing these - i go back to uni this saturday so the farther ahead i get the better.  
> have a wonderful day and week - i'm in wales rn and am sending fresh welsh breeze to you, see you in the next one. b x


	6. Knowing Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky starts to slip into the asset and has trouble pulling himself out of it. Can he really trust Steve or is everything a lie?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am honestly writer filth, cliffhangers are RUDE & i ask your forgiveness but also not bc let's be honest we need some spice in our life  
> this chapter was really intense & i thought the most intense.. until i just wrote the next one literally two minutes ago finished it up, gosh  
> loving your feedback and writing this, let me know what you think - enjoy!

Blue. Bright blue. Angrily bright blue. Some clouds. A rock face. Birds, somewhere. Water, flowing, somewhere closer.

Bucky tries blinking and the angry blue settles a little. The rock face is casting a slight shadow in the sunshine. He’s lying flat on his back, splayed out. He keeps his breathing deliberately shallow, afraid that one too large inhale will expose him to the pain of a chest cavity or punctured lung that he must have. Shattered ribcage, internal bleeding, brain trauma.

He should be dead.

Staring upwards at the looming cliff – he should definitely be dead. Even he couldn’t have survived a fall like that.

He’s still not daring to glimpse down at his body in fear of the twisted debris he’ll find there. Perhaps he’ll see his other arm taken from him, a discarded piece of shrapnel somewhere downstream of here. Instead, he tries to remember what happened. The running is sharp, so is the dread that came with watching Steve split his hands into pieces. The fighting is there, the dodging shots, he remembers firing at them with his one pistol he never uses. He dislikes guns. Getting Steve and moving is hazy but the bullet to his shoulder is crystal clear. He really dislikes guns.

Did they hang from off of the cliff? Yes, they did. Christ. Then it’s all bits and pieces and it’s overwhelming to experience this kind of memory loss. The kind that doesn’t come from electrocution, torture, shock punishment and scientist after scientist. The kind that comes from experience, from overwhelming feeling, from adrenaline and the heat of the moment and losing control. Bucky doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry about that and settles for a low wheeze.

Something else is tangled up in these shards of memory. Steve. More to the point, his eyes. Bucky can remember a warm light, a rich yellow, golden almost amber glow. There’s no sound or feeling to accompany this particular shred of memory, nothing to articulate how he felt, whether it was a good or bad thing, but it was definitely important. Maybe he was delirious, mad with pain and overwhelmed – that happened. But still, Steve’s eyes were blue, a definite, resolute blue as angry as the sky and memory Steve had dazzling rich gold infecting his.

Squeezing his eyes shut and open, bringing himself back to the present, he tries to survey the physical damage. He’d have to eventually, he might as well get it over and done with. Lifting his head took effort but there was no pain, a thick dizziness like after you sleep for too long (or are forcibly kept unconscious in freezing chambers for too long) ebbed at him instead. He blinked it back quickly at the sight of his body. His immaculate, unscarred, unbroken body.

More immediate now was the amber glow that lingered by his shoulder, dancing in beams of sunlight but definitely not sunlight. Steve’s eyes’ amber glow. It was condensed over his shoulder, whirling slowly and sinking into his skin. Every wisp that he somehow absorbed made him feel lighter, less sluggish. It at last had all sank into him and he sat up without thinking. Without waiting to slowly test his limbs and digits and joints – he just sat up. Any dizziness was gone and he had something pleasant strolling through his veins. It felt like heat and euphoria and home. Energised, he sprang to his feet and his mind seemed to shoot back to him at the absence of Steve.

The stream was near and Bucky followed it, searching for his friend, praying he didn’t find him. At least then he knew Steve didn’t fall too. He was probably up on the cliff face trying to find a way down, looking for him too. He was just considering whether he could scale the cliff when he saw a flash of blond by the river’s edge and his heart clenched.

Sprinting over, Steve was half-draped into the water, his legs soaked and his arms twisted about him, one hand dipping into the stream a little. His mouth was open slightly, eyes blessedly closed and there was a lot of smeared blood, half-dried by now. How long had they been here? What if Steve was screaming to him for help for hours and he missed the chance to save him? He shook his head in time to the frantic beat of his heart.

Taking one of his delicate hands from the water, Bucky was shocked to see that where the stream had taken away the blood there was no wound on his knuckles. His hand, though disturbingly limp, was unbroken. Bucky could feel the bones all in their proper places and the whole hand was warm. Impossibly warm. Warm enough that Bucky felt the absurd urge to press Steve’s palm to his face.

He resisted and checked for a pulse he thought long gone only to find it jumping strong under his fingers. Quickly, he gathered Steve up and made for the forest to find enough cover to fix the vulnerable itch and set up camp. He strode through the river with the small body lifeless in his arms but was relieved to feel the steady rise and fall of breath in Steve’s chest – small, barely noticeable, but there.

He avoids glancing at Steve who he’s rested down gently and covered in his jacket, dwarfing him but keeping him warm. The strange vacant expression of unconsciousness makes something restless and frustrated writhe in his gut so it’s easier to focus on collecting firewood and catching a rabbit, some carrots and wild berries that are growing around the forest. He’s sure there are some more herbs and vegetables deeper in the woods but he doesn’t want to move Steve and sure as hell won’t be leaving him alone for longer than a few minutes at a time. He’s not sure why that is, why he feels he has to stand guard but it’s a deep-seated feeling and it’s refreshing to have such a clear objective without orders. Is this what purpose feels like?

Also, the nagging need for answers won’t settle. Bucky should have died, he’s a _super soldier_ and he should have died. Steve should have been ruined, his body should be in pieces. The guy was oxymoronic in every sense, tiny but fearless, fragile but stronger than you could imagine, smart but clueless, trusting but flighty. Steve _threw_ him and punched through rock like it was nothing, like breaking yourself was commonplace. Why was he so blasé about getting injured when his body clearly wasn’t up for it?

He waits for a long time, wrestling with guilt, confusion and an unwilling suspicion. When Steve was conscious and chatting it felt natural to be at ease, calm and even cracking jokes and making conversation. Easy to slip into being a person, caring, laughing, not noticing every little thing. Now, in the dark silence, only the crackle of the fire to break it, his mood sours and his tension thickens.

The very first thing Steve did was blackmail him. Use him for his own gain. Just like everyone else. What had convinced Bucky that he wasn’t just like anyone else? Not to be trusted. He had no clue who Steve was, not really. What evidence did he have that Steve wasn’t Hydra? If anything, all signs were pointing to the contrary – his abnormal strength, abilities to evade capture, infiltrate the enemy line, gain the target’s trust. Plus, he had conveniently not been hit by a Hydra bullet during their little shootout. And it would play perfectly into Bucky’s programming to make him feel as if he had a task to complete and start conditioning him back to his old self. How had he fallen for it? How could he have thought he could actually escape?

How could he have thought he could actually make a friend? Was he really that backwards?

He felt sick, looking at the prepared cooked rabbit and carrots, his jacket shielding Steve from the elements, the camp he had set up. He had become a protector in what must be record speed. How predictably easy to manipulate. An odd, sad lump fell slowly from his throat to the pit of his stomach. He blinked downwards at himself, at his somehow fixed shoulder, and recognised something he hadn’t yet allowed. He was sad. He was hurt. Not physically or mentally how Hydra would manage, hurt somewhere in his chest and throat and behind his eyes. He liked Steve. And Steve probably wasn’t real. He was just a carefully calculated personality to draw Bucky in, to ensnare his trust. And it had worked, wonderfully well.

Steve groans and sits up. He turns and his face relaxes when he catches sight of Bucky. Must be relief, he can only imagine what Hydra does to agents who lose the asset.

“Who are you?” He asks from the log he’s sat on across the fire from where Steve had been lain on one. The other man’s brow furrows just a touch and it’s confusion and a bit of fear.

“What?” He asks when it becomes clear that Bucky wasn’t going to elaborate. Again, he stays quiet and Steve looks around and down at himself before sitting up fully, legs on the ground and staring across the flames.

“Buck, you’re gonna’ have to help me out, I can’t, what happened? Where are we?” Steve asks and Bucky feels a flare of infuriation. He’s still playing, still keeping the game alive and now he’s awake Bucky remember the eyes, the clumsy hand movements, the way he never checks the perimeter or braces his knees to move quickly. Everything screams inefficiency and inexperienced but _trust me trust me trust me_ and it’s clawing at the inside of Bucky’s head.

“Stop that,” He spits. Steve tries to stand up but his legs wobble like some baby animal and he has to steady himself on the log.

“We fell,” Steve remembers with some reverence and gapes at Bucky and then down at himself.

“How long ago did we fall, I, you’re okay?” He asks and his demeanour is a little off, as if he has a hint of a concussion and a stupid traitorous part of Bucky wants to check him over but he stays put.

“Do they want you to bring me in or just kill me?” And that makes Steve freeze. Finally. Maybe if they cut through the pretence he can get to the truth.

“Ki– why would I ever kill you, what’s going on, Bucky?” Steve looks panicked but he’s not glancing around for weapons or escape routes and he’s not advancing on Bucky to attack he’s just staring and has that horrified look on his face that’s too real. It’s too real.

“No! I know what’s going on and I’m not going back, you can’t make me!” Bucky yells, on his feet now and there’s the jagged hunting knife in his hand like it belongs. Steve’s eyes are wide and he’s standing but lilting to one side under the strain and the predator/prey imagery that hits Bucky is nearly enough to make him retch but he mustn’t. This is why they chose someone like Steve, to trick him and corrupt his instincts, make him believe he was doing the right thing when in fact he was walking himself to his own death.

“I would never make you go back to those people, whoever they are, whatever they did they to you,” He shakes his head and he looks angry and, God help him, Bucky believes it. “I’ll do everything to stop them from hurting you again.”

“Stop it,” Bucky growls and half-begs. “I know you’re one of them, just drop this whole,” He gestured to Steve’s whole person and Steve looked like he’d been sucker-punched.

“I, Buck, I swear,” He risked a step forwards and Bucky scowled at him but he couldn’t bring himself to step back or forward, glued in furious indecision. “I’m, I, I’m just Steve, you found me in the tower, you, you helped me, you’re my friend.” He phrased like it was a question only Bucky could answer. He gave a weak smile tinged with sadness and took another step forwards.

“I’ll kill you.” Bucky breathed, eyes pained and fearful rather than the anger and danger they should be.

“Bucky,” Steve says hushed and shakes his head, as if reprimanding him for doubting himself.

“You’re strong like me, you made me trust you, you, you fell, Steve, fuck, I don’t,” Bucky rakes his hand through his hair and in moments when his head felt it would split in two he’d been trained to follow his kill order and report back to the base. His hand is aching to surge forwards and slice his throat, it would take under a second.

Steve refuses to look away from his eyes and Bucky knows Hydra training and he’s not sticking to procedure either. Does it mean he could be wrong? He wasn’t thinking like this earlier and his instincts weren’t bad they were supposedly the best. He brought Steve here for a reason, he helped Steve for a reason.

“You, you found me, remember? I hit you... with my pan,” Steve stammered and Bucky actually coughed what could have been a laugh if his muscles would let him loosen up at all.

“Yeah, remember, you didn’t hurt me, you helped me. We’re friends, Buck, you and me, you know me, I, I wouldn’t hurt you or let anyone hurt you,” He continued and took another step closer, stepping into Bucky’s arm’s length. The knife was still there but neither of them were giving it any attention.

“We’re friends?” He let himself ask, desperate for validation but watching for any sign Steve’s lying, utterly conflicted.

“Yeah, yeah we are, you’re definitely my friend,” Steve says firmly and there’s that unwavering trust in his eyes and everything is telling Bucky that he isn’t lying, can’t be lying, not Steve. “You taught me the shakehand, remember?” And now Bucky does release one sharp gust of air, a hint of a smile somewhere, incredibly.

“Handshake.” He corrects and Steve shakes his head quickly at himself.

“Right, of course, just, you teach me things and I try and help you with things, friends do that, right?” He smiled and it was one Bucky had seen before, every time Steve was ready to get rejected, ready for confirmation of his own inadequacy. And Bucky hated it. He was so ready to argue that point, make Steve see his own value, so ready to rush into doing friendship things it was frightening. But even if Steve was telling the truth – he wasn’t telling the whole truth. Something was going on and he still had questions.

“Even if,” He tried and Steve was gazing at him like he was desperate to just drink in his words and it was unbearably distracting. “You should have died, I should’ve – but we didn’t and, and your eyes were all..” He made another fuzzy gesture but Steve paled so he must know what Bucky was talking about.

“I, I guess we were lucky,” Steve says slowly and now Bucky takes a step forward with the knife.

“Don’t think you can lie to me, I knew something was going on!”

“Buck, just, it’s complicated! Everything happened really fast, we don’t know –”

“I got shot in the fucking shoulder! We fell off a cliff! How are we breathing?” He snarled at Steve and grabbed the front of his shirt, lifting him slightly from the ground, keeping the knife within his eyeline but infuriatingly Steve still wouldn’t look at it.

“Okay, I’m sorry, please just, let me explain, okay?” He stuttered and he looked broken now. Why was he so confusing? Bucky dropped the front of his shirt so he landed back on the ground but didn’t move or speak. Steve was rubbing his neck and wringing his hands and it was as if someone gave him a handbook on how to broadcast the feelings you’d rather hide.

“You know I’m strong but... I’m, it’s not just strength, this, this thing in me, okay. I can, okay, you have a headache, right?” Steve motioned to him and Bucky narrowed his eyes but nodded, it wasn’t a secret from the way he’d been grabbing at it like some rookie idiot who didn’t conceal his weaknesses.

“I can fix it. But, but you need to come here and let me touch you.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky snapped viciously, taking a step backwards and Steve flinched.

“Whatever you’re worried about me maybe doing, it’s not that. What those people did to you,” And Steve looks momentarily furious which takes Bucky by surprise. “I won’t ever do that – I just want to show you what you want to know. But I’ll only ever do it if you let me.” Steve assured and that was the ace card. Bucky could back out, could finish the kill and be out of the whole region by morning but he wouldn’t. Instead, he steadily walked over to the other man, cautious and Steve guided them both to sit on the log.

The energy was ferociously charged as Steve slowly brought his hands up to either side of Bucky’s head and didn’t miss how he tensed all over, aware of the vulnerability of the position. Steve’s hands were gentle, his fingertips just pressing from the area of Bucky’s jaw to his temples. The close proximity made it difficult to keep still as Bucky felt the urge to move, to do something.

“Just, try and relax. I won’t hurt you.” Steve promised solemnly and the knot in Bucky’s stomach did loosen a little. Neither of them closed their eyes, for some reason this eye contact was important.

Steve drew in a long shaky breath and then added the smallest pressure onto his fingertips and his eyes changed. Suddenly he wasn’t simply looking into Bucky’s eyes he was looking through them, and there was that amber glow, brighter than remembered and hypnotic. Surprisingly, it didn’t make him panic, Bucky was intrigued but calm, and the pain in his head started to ebb. He closed his eyes as the dull thuds washed away too and felt all the discomfort pulled out of him. In the sudden glorious serenity Bucky let out a sigh of relief and his head dipped forwards without any warning. Steve squeaked slightly when Bucky’s forehead touched his but stayed there. However, Bucky felt Steve’s brow furrow and pulled back to see why.

Steve clutched his head with one hand, smiling apologetically.

“What’s wrong?”

“I, to heal and take away pain it, it has to go somewhere,” Steve explained, teeth grit as he spoke through the pain. “And when I absorb it, it’s a foreign substance so my body tries to reject it, which, well it kind of hurts.”

“Wait, that’s my headache in your head?” Bucky marvelled and his stomach sank as he saw what pain he’d put Steve in. Steve waved a hand as if to say not to worry and then after a moment he sighed and relaxed, apparently resolved of the pain. But then the silence turned tense again and Bucky realised he hadn’t given a verdict of trust.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I already knew about the strength,” Bucky asked quietly.

“This thing in me, it’s toxic. I live every day knowing I have the power to hurt people and if I could rip it out I would – believe me, I’ve tried,” Steve laughed bitterly and Bucky’s heart coiled up in discomfort at the image. “I’ve never had a friend before, and you were so suspicious of me already, I just wanted to be normal and keep you, just for a while. It was stupid and dangerous and I’m really sorry I lied.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I, what?”

“It’s not toxic, it’s a part of you. Couldn’t be.” Bucky said simply and Steve frowned up at him in confusion and seemed to get frustrated when his eyes filled up.

“Johann said.. I can’t, I’m a monster, people want to use my power to hurt people,” He choked and grit his teeth when a tear spilled over.

“That makes them bad people. You have a power and you heal people, that’s amazing, Steve. All I’ve ever done is get people hurt, even you,” Bucky admitted, voice tinged with shame and Steve reached up, quickly swiping some stray strands of hair from his face, sending a bolt of electricity down Bucky’s spine but Steve’s hand is gone just as quickly as it came.

“You’re full of good. I felt it, when I healed you.” He smiled knowingly and Bucky raised a questioning hand to his temple and Steve shook his head. He raised his hand again and laid it over where Bucky had been shot, very close to his heart, and applied enough pressure for him to lean into. It felt warm and euphoric and home, just like before. Bucky’s not sure about much else, but he’s fairly certain that he’d follow this man anywhere.

He allowed himself a relieving sigh turned moan and Steve was just parading that sad smile. Again, seemingly without his consideration his head moved, pressing against Steve’s. They both closed their eyes and really, Bucky was baffled, he had no idea what he was doing. His brain was an autopilot now he had surpassed the asset’s need for suspicion and was merely seeking comfort. And as far as his brain was concerned, comfort equalled Steve.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

Bucky’s sound of relief made something flip in his chest. And then he pressed their foreheads together again and it felt natural as anything to close his eyes and breathe in that warm in a thunderstorm smell. He wasn’t sure what this behaviour meant. He hadn’t spent enough time around people to know if this was customary but he’d never done this with Johann. Even thinking of doing it with Johann made his stomach curl in disgust.

It was personal and maybe this is what friends just did sometimes but something in his chest was begging him to think otherwise. He’d read books about friends, about pain, about love. The vague nature of the descriptions had irritated him to no end, or they were so confusing he gave up.

Not long ago, Bucky had a knife near his throat and was cursing him and pushing him away but he never considered running or fighting. He had just wanted to apologise and plead with him to see reason, the sight of losing his trust was awful enough to bear his soul just to win it back. And now, his hand was pressed to Bucky’s chest, their heads together, and it was a moment. There was even a part of him telling him to push for more here. More what, he didn’t know but suddenly he was a dying man, parched of thirst and Bucky was water and drinking him in was all he wanted, maybe even more than the floating lights.

How was it possible to want that more than something he’d been dying for since as long as he could remember? Especially as he didn’t know what he wanted, just knew that it lay in this man he felt so irrevocably connected to.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispered after a long time and Steve cracked his eyes open to find them meeting Bucky’s. He pulled back a fraction so they could speak properly but this close of a proximity was intoxicating.

“For what?”

“I didn’t trust you, I hurt you,”

“You didn’t,” Steve promised quietly. “You didn’t hurt me, you never will.” And it was such a big thing to say but he meant it whole-heartedly. Bucky looked angry at himself, staring at Steve like he was a conundrum he couldn’t work out. It was passionate and fierce and made Steve’s breath catch which was a delirious sensation.

“I don’t know how to do, do _this_ but.. I trust you.” Bucky said and Steve moved to draw his hand away but Bucky pushed it back against his chest. Steve didn’t know what that meant. Neither of them did.

“I trust you.” He replied earnestly and a smile broke free from Bucky.

Eventually, they pulled back from their coveted contact. Bucky handed him the cooked rabbit, carrots and berries.

“You should eat, I’ll get more firewood.” He said as he stood up and stretched himself out, seemingly putting himself back together after he briefly started falling apart. Then he turned with a devilish smirk at Steve.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” He grinned and Steve is fairly sure he turned scarlet but glared good-naturedly as Bucky walked away.

“You’re taking all the stupid with you,” He called after the other man and was gratified with hearing a distant laugh.

In the silence after their... whatever it was, Steve felt exhausted but full and happy. He was really happy in a way he had never felt before, a happiness that he felt like he’d fought for and won. So much more intense than happiness pulled from the wreckage of disappointment, salvaged happiness he’d clawed free from his deafening isolation in the tower. This happiness was electric and fleeting like a comet. He knew it would wane and come and go but he had to earn this and that felt so right.

He smiled as he picked through his food but paused when he heard some snapping twigs. He looked up to shoot a smile at Bucky and felt all the blood drain from his face at what emerged from the bushes instead.

“Johann?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she's only gone and bloody done it again - did i mention i'm writer filth, ah well  
> again, sweet talking you for comments, would love to hear what you thought, next chapter up soon  
> (was supposed to wait a week in between updates but i am a CHILD and cannot wait)  
> have a lovely day, week and general time. the stars are really bright right now, try and mirror them you have it within you. b x


	7. Knowing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's past catches up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha so more angst, i know you guys love it though so.  
> writing is such a crutch for me, i'm writing non-stop, 20k for that other random fic in a couple of days like??  
> i have a good idea for another au but i have such a list of stuff i want to do  
> anyway, more truth telling this chapter, hope you enjoy, let me know what you think.

“Johann?” Steve stares horror-struck.

“Hello, dearest.” He sneers and Steve’s heart starts racing.

“How did you find me?” He breathes and the older man laughs harshly.

“Oh, it was easy, once I found the trail of lies and disease I followed that.”

“Johann,” Steve wilts slightly, already feeling the thick guilt weighing down in his stomach.

“We’re going home, Steven.”

“No, please, just let me explain, this is all so much bigger than you know,”

“This world is so much bigger than _you_ know, child,” Johann spits, advancing on him and Steve takes natural steps backwards towards the fire which at that moment feels safer. “You do not know what I have sacrificed to keep you safe all these years, and _this_ , this is how you repay me?”

“I am grateful and I know you think you’re protecting me but I had to get out and see the world, just once!” Steve pleads, trying not to step back anymore as Johann crowds him.

“You don’t _see_ the world, Steven. You _suffer_ it. And I suffer you, you deserve no such kindness, no such care, no such mercy,” Johann bellows and he snaps, bringing his hand down across Steve’s jaw and sending him flying. He usually lasts longer than this before he turns violent.

“I bet you were just dying to disobey me, the second my back was turned you stabbed me in it, you beastly thing,” He hissed and Steve scrambled to his feet, hands raised in surrender but it was no use. He couldn’t fight Johann. He just had to endure, and maybe, maybe convince him.

“That’s not true, I respect you but I –”

“Respect?” He roared, outraged and Steve flinched. “You are a mewling experiment I lowered myself to guard and you dare to think I must earn your respect of me. Your respect is nothing, there is only _obedience_!” With his last word he roughly kicks Steve in the stomach, effectively doubling him over as he sank to his knees, clutching his abdomen. Still, he forced himself to look up, to struggle.

“Please, I, I just wanted to see, to feel, I, I met someone, he’s kind, he can take care of me,” Steve reasoned and got the boot of Johann’s heel to his head for his trouble. He struggles to hear properly as the thudding in his skull threatens to overwhelm him.

“No one has a claim to you but me. This _friend_ of yours is nothing but trouble and is no friend at all, you’ve deluded yourself like the child you are.” Johann dismisses, derisively.

“That’s not true. He is my friend, he’s a good man, he’s just taking me to the floating lights.” He mumbles miserably as he pulled himself back onto his feet.

“He is not your friend. You are incapable of friendship. Look at yourself, you think he’s impressed? You’re a mistake of nature, Steven, he’ll be sick at the touch of you!”

“He, he isn’t like that. He is my friend.” Steve sounds as though he were trying to convince himself now more than anything, resisting the urge to crumple inwards.

“Maybe I should rid the world of this wretched friend of yours so you can see reason,”

“No! Please, no! You mustn’t hurt him!” Steve begs, panicked tears filling his eyes.

“Why ever not? Kill the man who has led my poor Steven astray, given him the illusion of freedom, of friendship,” He spits the words as though they are disgusting. “When in fact, he is a liar, and a murderer and is using you just until he can get what he desires and then he shall kill you as well!”

“That is not true!” Steve screams, his ribs in agony as tears stream down his face. Johann is on him in a moment, hands stroking his face and Steve groans in disgust at the touch but is too weak to pull away, to focus on anything other than standing.

“He is a talented liar, I’ll give him that but there is no good in that man, Steven, you must believe me,” He says it with a sickly grin.

“I don’t,” Steve weeps. “I don’t believe you.” And Johann smacks him across the face, sending him staggering backwards but at least it’s further from the man in front of him.

“Then you are a fool! This is his true nature!” Johann growls as he pulls the satchel from where it had been hidden behind his back, tugging it from around his shoulder. The same satchel Steve had hidden in his tower – he’d almost forgotten all about it and the odd metal circlet Johann was now brandishing wildly. “This is what he’s here for!” And the throws the circlet onto the floor by Steve’s feet.

“No,” Steve objects quietly, making himself stop crying.

 “Then you have forced my hand, Steven.” Johann says in a low voice that makes Steve’s hair stand on end. He pulls a piece of paper from the satchel and also throws it at Steve and it floats and bobs through the air before landing on the mud in front of him. Steve would wish it had floated right into the flames.

“This is what he’s hiding, he’s dangerous, he’s a criminal, a killer and he’s deceived you. But don’t simply take me at my word, confront him. I’m sure it will be sufficient illumination on the world you’re so desperate to be a part of.” Johann snarls and then turns and vanishes into the woods. Steve nearly calls after him but can’t quite bring himself to, even with how terrified he is of the piece of paper on the ground.

What Johann said cannot be true. He knows Bucky. They know each other, and trust each other. All the lies and secrets had been revealed, he had nothing to fear from this piece of paper. Shakily, he bends and scoops up the offending scrap, almost as thick as parchment but it quivers in unison with Steve, as if it is nervous of the outcome it is going to reveal. Flipping it over Steve is faced with the words ‘Wanted – Dead or Alive’ in bold angry black letters at the top of the page. He reads in horror, eyes glued to the line that reads ‘Under no circumstances to be approached or trusted’ and he suddenly can’t breathe properly and his eyes were filling up again.

The shuffling of leaves being kicked and the telltale snapping of twigs makes him whirl around to be greeted by the silhouette of Bucky. With the unshed tears in his eyes and the scorched air swirling above the fire, Bucky appeared curdled and undulating, almost as if he weren’t real and Steve couldn’t decide if that would be a good or bad development at this moment.

“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky breathes and he drops the stack of firewood, jolting Steve to the present. “He’s here, isn’t he?” He growls and starts making his way around the fire at an alarming speed, hands already raised to check over Steve’s apparently visible injuries. He panics and stumbles backwards.

“Don’t touch me!” Is the strangled cry that leaves his lips. Bucky adheres, halting in his tracks.

“What did he do to you?” Bucky asks softly, a sharp edge to his voice and it’s this edge that Steve has been underestimating. The edge that must have come with practiced hands, bloodied hands.

“You, you’re a –” His breath catches and he allows an ugly choke to throttle the words away from him, anything not to face this.

“Steve?” He sounds so concerned and worried and confused. Innocent. He sounds innocent. Surely, he isn’t lying. This is some big mistake. Bucky has to be the good guy here or the world Steve was so in love with is as twisted as Johann said it was.

“Tell me this isn’t you.” Steve holds the sheet out facing Bucky and can’t tear his eyes away from the face that pales and crumples in harmony to his insides.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, voice trembling and Steve lets out a messy sob.

“Tell me this isn’t you!” He yells, tears spilling over and he gasps in breath. “Please,” He whimpers and Bucky’s face spells heartbreak but he isn’t denying it. Why isn’t he denying it?

“It’s not how they made it sound,” Bucky gulps and Steve’s mouth falls open in disbelief with his tears.

“T-torture? Murder?” He stuttered on the emotion stuck in his throat. “Kidnapping,” Steve breathes and something in his mind clicks and he looks down at himself and back up at Bucky.

“N-No, Steve, that’s not what it is with you, I did those things but _I_ never did those things,” Bucky stumbles and his hands are up but in a desperate way, like he’s falling, like they’re back on the cliff and Steve let him fall all over again. Then Steve realises that Bucky has gloves on, he’d never paid any attention to it before.

“Take off your gloves,” He orders, voice unstable.

Bucky looks pained by does as he asks, taking the one off of his flesh hand first. He hesitates on the second one, glancing up at Steve but then pulls it off, revealing cool steel digits in a metal fist and Steve holds in his gasp but can’t stop the devastated moan that slips out.

“It is you.”

“Please, let me explain,” Bucky tries and Steve is biting down so hard he can taste blood and the tears are fogging up his vision again. He feels burnt out, like every nerve ending is exposed and suddenly the camp is a prison, the woods are a barbed fence he can never find his way out of as he’s chased down by his captor. The man in front of him who looks miserable.

“You lied to me. You, you lied. I, told you everything,” He grimaces and fists his hands. “Johann was right. You’re not my friend –”

“Steve, please –”

“You are not my friend!” He screams, baring his teeth at Bucky. “I just have what you want, well, well here, take it,” He launches the muddy circlet and it hits Bucky in the chest and thumps onto the ground.

“T-take it,” He whimpers. “Then you can kill me and we can be done with each other, right?” And he tries to ready his body for attack but he’s not sure he even has the will for it right now. Death sounds painless in comparison to this agony. Why does this hurt so much? Bucky doesn’t pick up or even look at the circlet, he does take a step forward though.

“Don’t. I can’t have you... near me.”

“This is not what you think but it is bad, that’s why I didn’t tell you. It’s my past, it, I didn’t choose it –”

“You always have a choice, Bucky!” Steve roars, fury bubbling up easily, happily devouring the heartbreak and warping it into something less painful and more destructive. “You have a choice on whether you help people, whether you want to be a good person, or whether you are _this_.” He gestures to the whole of Bucky, to the paper, to the circlet.

“You’re right. You’re right and I’m choosing now, every day I’m choosing not to do what they want me to, not to go back to them. Please believe me,” Bucky rushed and Steve frowns at him, unsure as to what he was trying to do by reasoning with him.

“Just shut up, you have what you want, if you’re going to kill me then just... get on with it. If not, then just go.” Steve tries to sound unafraid, unaffected but his gasping tears and tense, shaking muscles told a different story.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Bucky promised like it was what Steve wanted to hear. And a sick, traitorous part of Steve did.

“Then I am.”

“No, not yet,”

“So, you’re keeping me here against my will?” Steve growls and Bucky winces.

“Remember earlier, when I thought you were someone you weren’t, I didn’t trust you but you, you,”

“That was different.” Steve snaps and Bucky nods.

“Yes, it was but, I’m asking you to trust me for five more minutes, then you can think whatever you want.” Bucky bargains and his eyes are so open and vulnerable that Steve can’t bring himself to move his feet.

“Five minutes. And then I’ll never see you again.” Steve promises darkly. Bucky tilts his head sadly but nods.

“They took me as a kid from a shelter someplace, no one’s going to miss an orphan. Hydra, they trained me, experimented on me, gave me... skills, I don’t, I don’t remember all of it.” Everything about his body language was defensive, ready to bolt, but he was still determinedly looking at Steve.

“Experimented on you?” Steve pushes and Bucky looks torn on whether to be happy Steve is talking to him and pained that he’s picked up on something so grim. He nods once.

“They made me.. strong, fast, my senses are sharper and my arm, it, my arm,” He’s frowning harshly and Steve half-wishes he hadn’t asked.

“If I disobeyed or questioned or started remembering things they wiped my memories,” He confessed and Steve’s eyes went wide.

“How?” He can’t help but ask. Bucky looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, his jaw clenching and he exhaled hard, pushing himself to answer.

“A machine. It... shot electricity into my brain.” And Steve covered his mouth with one hand, stray tears surprising him as he realises he wants to reach out for Bucky but he mustn’t.

“I had to leave myself clues to make me figure it out, it took maybe years before I escaped, I don’t know, but I never wanted to hurt anybody, they told me I was protecting people and then they said they’d kill me if I ran but they’d make me kill more people first... innocent people,” He was shaking but his voice was carefully calm.

“Do you remember... the people you,” He didn’t need to say anymore, Bucky nodded, his lip trembles and he’s frowning deeply enough to hurt.

“I, I never wanted to hurt anybody, but I was scared, just a fucking coward. Thought I was going crazy,” He lets out one shaky humourless laugh that falls sadly onto Steve’s chest. “I wanted to get out, I only realised I wanted to be a good person when I met you.” And if Steve’s heart hadn’t shattered already it must have at that moment.

“I did those things, you’re right to think I’m a monster, but, I think once, I wasn’t,” His lips form a weak sad smile and Steve’s mesmerised, his heart panging angrily against his ribs. “And I hope that maybe one day, I might be something.. better, than this.” He looks a little frustrated at himself, like he’s never said this out loud and it doesn’t sound like how he thought it would.

“They hurt you,” Steve says like it’s a question when it absolutely isn’t. Bucky nods again, eyes dull, memory clouding them and he keeps exhaling sharply, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them, a tinge of desperation in them as he looked at Steve. It was a marvel that he could keep eye contact.

“You’re brave,” He whispers and Bucky flinches.

“No. I’ve never been brave.”

“Bucky,”

“Don’t do this, don’t try and justify what I am. You’re a kinder person than I thought but I don’t deserve kindness from anyone. I’ve done awful things, Steve.” He says ashamedly.

“You did things, but what they did to you –”

“No, please, don’t,”

“You were controlled and abused. They manipulated you, blackmailed you, threatened you, that’s, that makes you a victim, Bucky. You were a prisoner.” Steve realises as he says it and he stares at the man in front of him with new eyes.

In a way, Johann was right. The beautiful world Steve had dreamed up in his tower was not reality. Reality was brutal and without reason or mercy. The man in front of him was not who Steve thought he was. He was broken and wrecked and despairing but there was such beauty in him. He fought back. After years, when all fight, all spark should have been beaten out of him, Bucky had gotten out. And he recognised that he’d done awful things but was desperate to be a better person. After everything he’d been through, he helped Steve to come and see his stupid floating lights. How painfully insignificant that must be to a man like this. And how wonderful that he’d made it his mission.

“And that?” He gestured to the circlet on the ground, forgotten behind Bucky’s feet. Bucky stopped shaking his head and looked down with apathy to the metal ringlet.

“It was wrong to steal it but I needed money to start a new life. I thought I could maybe sell it. It’s not mine, really I should return it to the family I took it from.” He adds absently. There’s a long stretch of silence.

“So, now I’ll never see you again?” Bucky says slowly, big sad eyes begging Steve to stay.

“You have a terrible past and you lied to me to get me to trust you,” Steve says solemnly and Bucky hangs his head with a nod, accepting that he’d lost his friend. “But I don’t trust you because of the lies you told me. And your past is not who you are now.” Bucky’s head snaps up with something dangerously close to hope chasing his eyelashes but he doesn’t speak.

“You’re my friend, Buck. You’re a good person who’s been treated awfully and, and I forgive you for lying to me.” He says with a tiny warm smile and his friend stares at him, awestruck.

“You, you forgive me?” He repeats and Steve nods.

“You want to be my friend?” He says a little incredulously and Steve nods again.

“But you have to promise me something.” He pushes and Bucky nods seriously, already set on agreeing to whatever terms Steve might set.

“You can’t ever lie to me again. Ever. And if I say you’re going too far, slipping back into whatever they tried to make you, you stop, you trust me and you stop.” Steve concludes.

“I promise I won’t ever lie to you again. But, Steve, if you think I’m going too far, you have to stop me, permanently. You can’t let me hurt anybody else.” Bucky says and Steve is caught off guard, disliking where he’s going with this.

“You won’t hurt anyone,” He argues.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do!”

“You said it yourself, if I’m slipping back into that thing they made me, you kill me, Steve. I’d rather be dead than see another body and know I put it there.” Bucky grit out and Steve stormed over and punched him square across his jaw with enough force that Bucky staggered backwards.

“Don’t you dare ask me something like that. You can’t say things like that to me, not now, not ever, alright?” He demands, seething and Bucky glares at him, letting his hand fall away from his jaw. He doesn’t answer, just lifts Steve’s throbbing knuckles and delicately dusts his fingertips over them. Steve gasped a little and Bucky freezes, eyes up, still some challenge in them as if this is a fight but cautious, questioning whether he’d hurt him and Steve shakes his head. The gasp was involuntary, he’s not sure what even caused it.

“We have to accept each other. And we’re damaged,” Steve said as his fingers began to be surrounded by a warm amber glow and a tiny smile appeared on Bucky’s lips. Steve reaches out and lifts his metal hand and the smile slips away, replaced by an anxious hard line. He copied the action of Bucky’s, appreciating the feeling of the cool metal and being very gentle, even if he couldn’t feel it. Bucky’s gulp was loud.

“You’re not leaving?” He asks carefully, voice in check now but they’re close enough that this feels more charged than before somehow.

“You’re still taking me to the floating lights, right?” Steve asks with a shy smile and Bucky nods again, face unreadable but eyes calm. Their hands are gently together and it’s scarily intimate. Steve struggles to keep up with the emotional outbursts they keep having. Is this what the real world does to you? He’s exhausted. He doesn’t bother stopping to think before dropping hands, leaning forwards and resting against Bucky’s chest, releasing a loud sigh of relief.

What does surprise him is when Bucky’s arms tentatively raise around him and ever so gently circle him, the slightest pressure coming around his back and shoulders. And remarkably, despite everything he’s learnt about Bucky, he feels safe. Completely protected and unafraid because this man is not someone who enjoys hurting others. He’s painfully gentle and careful, terrified of hurting anyone, wants nothing but to be a better person. And maybe they’re a perfect match, both fractured, trying people pretending they know how life works when really they’re just figuring it out.

“For the record, you deserve better friends.” Bucky says hushed, the smallest hint of amusement in his tone, setting Steve’s final nerve at rest that his Bucky was back.

“I’d struggle to find any.” He counters and Bucky prods him lightly but doesn’t say anything. “I’m sorry you went through what you did.” He whispers into Bucky’s shoulder and closes his eyes because somehow that makes it easier. Bucky’s arms tighten the smallest fraction around him and he wishes they would squeeze him fully and hold him close and not let go.

“Johann hurt you, didn’t he?” Bucky mutters into his hair and Steve freezes on instinct but then slowly unravels and sighs in defeat. He nods into the warm chest he’s buried against and shakes a little with the silent sobs that are the last he can let out tonight after so many.

“Never again.” Bucky mumbles into his hair, shushing him gently as Steve rides out the tears.

At some point they sink against a log, watching the dying embers of the fire as they stay huddled up close. Steve tries to stay awake, to drink in this moment. This is the first time he feels completely himself, accepted and understood with another person. He wants to remember Bucky’s big safe hands and his warm thunderstorm smell and the way he runs his fingers through Steve’s hair forever.

“Tomorrow.” Bucky mumbles and Steve blinks focus into his eyes from where they had drifted sleepily to the distant stars.

“What tomorrow?” He asks drearily.

“Tomorrow you see your lights.” Bucky says and Steve smiles into his shoulder. The thought of being surrounded by the lights he’d dreamt of since he was a child now added to the picture of Bucky smiling at him was too much happiness to bear. He fell asleep and dreamt of blue eyes the same shade as the sky before the sunset and the lights beginning to rise in the sky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed that, i needed bucky's past to be out in the open & steve is such a type that i know he'd forgive and understand way quicker than bucky thought he would  
> please let me know what you thought & be kind i am in such a low and hate my writing rn haha it's gross  
> trying not to be negative  
> i hope you're feeling in better spirits than me, okay have a great day and week! b x


	8. The Kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve & Bucky finally reach the kingdom on the day of the floating lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just want to say a huge thank you to all the wonderful comments, i can't tell you how much i needed that and it was such a boost when i was in a hard time - thank you so much, it means a lot!  
> after all that drama, welcome to some fluff, thank you for waiting, sorry for the emotional overload!  
> okay so this chapter i felt it was really important to show the shift of steve entering the 'new world' and though it's exciting and a dream, he is new and alien to it and doesn't know how to deal with it. think of steve waking up into the new world, there's a feeling of being overwhelmed that i have changed a little but i really hope comes across bc it's so important for his character, i reckon anyway haha.  
> okay, loved writing this & watching some live poetry, NICE.  
> hope you enjoy chaps! the boys are really falling for each other now.  
> (just a psa - Bucky doesn't know it's Steve's birthday yet, but he will)

Bucky woke up first with an odd feeling.

He felt warm. Warmer than he’d felt waking up in so long, he almost thought he was dreaming still. That dream where he’s inside somewhere he knows is called home and there’s a fire and he’s laughing at something, someone’s voice, and he’s so warm that he’d happily never move from that moment, happily stop time and just bask there. It’s his favourite. But it’s not real, so this feeling can’t be real either.

He tries to stay very still, maybe then he can slip back into that glorious space for another charmed minute or two. However, he feels his mind sharpen the way it does when he wakes up but the warm feeling doesn’t fade. He heaves a big sigh at the prospect of getting up but it half freezes when he feels something moving with his chest, a weight pushing against him. A light weight, barely there, but still present.

Cracking open an eye, he sees Steve bundled up in his arms, sleeping soundly, his soft blond hair messy and gently rising and falling with Bucky’s breath. He had to make a conscious effort to keep his breath steady in his surprise so he didn’t wake up the smaller man nestled in his arms. Glancing up and around he sees the fire has died and sucking in a deep breath fills Bucky with the scent of Steve tinged with charred wood and it’s intoxicating. They’re sat, Steve between his legs and Bucky’s back has found some way to feel comfortable propped against a large log.

The sunrise is staining the sky elaborate pastels, foreshadowing the angry golds and ambers that are seeping through the border of the horizon. Something odd is sitting in Bucky’s chest, as if a hollow feeling is being filled in and there’s not enough room inside of him to contain it. Steve stirs a little and Bucky’s arms tighten unconsciously as he finds big blue eyes blinking up at him sleepily.

“Is it morning?” He mumbles and Bucky nods once. Steve groans and slumps back into him, burrowing his head against his shoulder and into his metal arm which sent a jolt up his spine. Something about this position was making him _respond_ to everything Steve did.

“Getting up?” Bucky asked but he didn’t make to move from where he was. Steve hummed happily but gave no answer or sign that he’d heard anything. “Steve?”

“Shh,” Steve pressed harder against his shoulder and Bucky snorted a laugh. Steve’s stomach growling angrily forced Bucky to move, sitting up straighter and ignoring the tantalising sounds of protest from his friend.

“You’re hungry,” Bucky points out, untangling himself from the unwilling skinny limbs that were trying to keep him in place. He huffs out a tiny laugh and resists the urge to just wrap Steve up again and not move.

Instead, he stands and stretches, enjoying the slight twinge of his muscles that reminded him of how he’d slept, it was just a lasting memory that he’d had a warm, safe sleep. He ignores the feeling of eyes on him, probably accusing that he’d dared to get up this early. Finding the abandoned berries from last night he scoops them up and brings them over to Steve who is hunched over, hugging his knees to his chest and visibly shaking which brings a frown to Bucky’s face.

“Cold?” He asks but he’s already shrugging off his jacket and draping it around him, getting a dirty look for his trouble.

“I’m f-fine,” Steve says, wincing the smallest amount at the stutter that betrays him and Bucky only looks smug for a second before handing over the berries.

“Eat these, okay.”

“What are you having?” Steve asks, because it’s Steve.

“I’ll eat later,” He assures with an eye roll.

“Oh, so you’re allowed to fuss but when I do it’s ridiculous,” Steve snaps, aggravated but still eats the berries because he sees the same brand of stubborn in Bucky’s eyes. His attitude shifts however when he starts eating and the flavour floods his mouth, lighting up his face in a grin as he licks his lips and savours more, making sounds of delight. His lips tainted a brilliant purple was infuriatingly distracting and Bucky forced himself to turn away and plot their route rather than stare. A sneeze makes him turn back.

“S’just a sneeze, Buck,” Steve placates pre-emptively with a reproving frown and Bucky lifts his hands in surrender.

“Didn’t say anything.” He allowed and Steve nods, going to hand his jacket back over. “Nah, you hang onto it, just until it warms up – metal doesn’t feel the cold.” He grins ruefully and though Steve slips his arms in, he doesn’t smile.

“You’re not metal,” He says seriously, eyeing him until Bucky nods and he lets a small smile loose.

“Ready to go?” Bucky asks, returning Steve’s wide smile.

They walk in the crisp morning light in silence for a while, letting each other drink in the gorgeous forest, bathing in the sunrise. Something about this time of morning demanded quiet and it was pleasant, just enjoying a companionable silence.

Something had changed between them last night. With everything, all the secrets and lies spoken and aired, all that was left was an exhausted trust that had taken them both by surprise. Now, walking together without speaking, knowing the person next to them wanted to be there, it was a new sensation.

After a while the silence lifted a little, birds tweeting happily, wind picking up, stray noises of animals and nature breaking apart part of their walk. Glancing over, he could see Steve trailing his hands through the leaves of a low hanging branch, smiling at the feeling.

“You like plants?” He asks absently.

“They’re beautiful, don’t you think?” Steve smiles at him and the morning light is nothing compared to how he seems to just shine. The thought actually catches him off guard and he scrambles to collect his thoughts.

“They can be,” He allows, smirking.

“What do you like about the morning?” Steve asks, chasing the smile. “Your favourite thing?” The absurd answer of ‘you’ actually startles a laugh from him because what is making thoughts like that hop around his brain?

“Well, I…” He thinks on it for a moment. “I like the sky.”

“The sky.” Steve repeats with a smile. “Why?”

“It’s, there’s just no end to it, and the colours are always different, it’s quiet and no one can take it away,” He mumbles the last part and throws a reassuring smile at Steve’s sad expression, as if guilty that he’d asked. “Nothing’s happened yet, it’s brand new, ready for good things to happen.” He adds, trying to lighten the sombre mood he’d unwittingly stumbled into.

“I hated them for a while.” Steve admits and Bucky raises his eyebrow in question. “Just, another day, you know? On my own. Another day of the same,” He laughs and it’s a bitter, withered thing.

“Not anymore, though.” Bucky says with a playful shove and Steve’s face blooms into a beaming smile.

“Not anymore,” He repeats firmly, dragging his heels a little and Bucky is having a day of resisting every impulse that comes to him because they’re all outrageous and he can’t comprehend what’s bringing them to him.

“You’ve really not left that tower before?” Bucky pushes gently, tone tinged with apology in case he was pushing too far. Steve doesn’t react, just nods, avoiding eye contact but he keeps his face clear and Bucky’s heart stutters uncomfortably that he’s learning to hide what he’s feeling.

“Did you think about, maybe what you’d do after?” He asks, the question’s been tugging at his brain.

“I want to see the floating lights,” Steve says after a few seconds, clearing his throat and frowning into the treeline.

“You know what I mean, Steve.”

“It doesn’t matter, the lights are, all I care about are the lights,” He grits out and Bucky’s mood sours.

“That’s it?” He challenges and Steve meets his eye for a second, a similar challenge in his eyes but he was holding in words, it was obvious.

“The floating lights –” Steve starts again and Bucky stops walking and tugs his arm, yanking him back and stooping a little to force eye contact.

“I get it, the lights are important. We’ll see them, but you need to think about what happens after.”

“You know what happens after!” Steve growls and Bucky grips his upper arms.

“Are you fucking serious, Steve? After all of this you’re going back?” He yells and Steve shoves him roughly away.

“You can’t tell me how to live!”

“Because he won’t? Because he hasn’t your whole life?”

“You – shut up! You don’t know anything about my life!” He snarls furiously and Bucky laughs without humour, gritting his teeth.

“That won’t work anymore, Steve. I know you as much as you know me and I can’t watch you do that to yourself,” He says, imploring and something in Steve softens and he looked utterly torn.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

Steve stared at his friend who was forcing him to confront the thoughts that he’d been avoiding. Sure, he’d fallen in love with the world, it was inevitable, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go back. The tower was, despite everything, home. It was all he had in the world. He’d barely been in the world for a couple of days and he’d nearly died. How was he supposed to start from scratch with nothing?

“He’s my family, Buck.” He says, resolve to argue corroding. Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up.

“He _hurt_ you.” He says, disbelief colouring his tone.

“I, it wasn’t like that,”

“Steve,”

“I heal,” He tries and Bucky releases a harsh breath.

“You think that makes it okay?” He asks, genuinely horrified. “No one is allowed to hurt you, it’s not okay, you, you can’t let it happen.”

“It… I,” He sucks in shaky breaths because Bucky is taking apart his excuses one by one and he’s got nothing to fall back on. No plan. “It’s, it’s all I’ve got, all I know,” He tries and Bucky surges forward, gripping his shoulders but so gently.

“That’s not true, you know that isn’t true.” He says quietly and Steve’s heart is hammering at his chest, he feels a little dizzy for how erratic his breathing is.

“What are you saying?” He breathes and Bucky’s jaw is working away, his eyes flicking between Steve’s.

“I’m saying I can’t take you back there, I can’t see you get hurt ever again, alright, don’t, please don’t,” He’s begging and Steve doesn’t know how to do this, how to answer with what he wants to hear when he’s so terrified.

“Buck, please, can we just, can we just wait?” He pleads and he’s not sure when his hand fisted in Bucky’s shirt but he pulls on it, bringing him a little closer, trying to convey his panic and longing through his eyes.

“Wait?”

“Until after. I promise we’ll talk about it, I’ll, I’ll think about everything just, just after today, okay? I just want one more day of, of _this_ , and then we can deal with anything else.” He can see Bucky wants to push the issue, force Steve to deal with the reality but then something in his eyes relents and he sighs in defeat.

“Fine. Just today.” He allows and Steve smiles at him and is disappointed when Bucky can’t return it. He goes on instinct and pushes forwards and takes his place back against Bucky’s chest much as he had that night, clinging to his shirt, closed eyes, resting his head against his shoulder. It took a few seconds but Bucky caved and wrapped around him. “You gonna’ try not to scare me anymore? Don’t know if I could take it.” Bucky mutters in his ear and he resists the urge to shudder, pressing closer to his friend, resolutely ignoring the fear of knowing that he might not have this anymore after tomorrow.

“You getting sentimental on me, Buck?” Steve quips, sidestepping the question and they both know it but let it be. The unlikely pair clinging to each other in the dense forest.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky mumbles and Steve huffs into his neck, revelling in the feeling of strong arms circling him, feeling completely safe and present.

“Don’t be stupid.” He says as they pull back and Bucky surprises him by looking at him with a desperate intensity and then presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes with a deep frown.

“You’re important.” Bucky says slowly, his words holding such gravity that Steve wants to hold onto him and never let go. He can feel how vital this sentiment is to Bucky, how much he needs Steve to understand so he doesn’t argue. He lets the feeling of being important to someone fill him up, and not just someone, but Bucky. That somehow means something more. He’s unsure if it’s just because Bucky is the one who happened to climb into his tower or if it’s something specifically Bucky that is making him feel this connection but he doesn’t care, because the connection is here. And Bucky is here. And he realised a while ago that, that was all he needed right now.

They start walking again a little reluctantly but they stay close to each other, hands occasionally brushing. They start talking also, about everything. Favourites being the main theme. Animals, smells, weather, food, dreams, colour, anything. Stories about their childhoods, or whatever they could remember at least, memories that they loved to relive. Steve spoke about art and learning to draw and paint and Bucky spoke about learning himself and the world, meeting Nat and Clint and trusting people, making friends.

They started learning and attempting to recreate things that made each other laugh, chasing the sound out of the other, delighting when they achieved it. They tested boundaries, saw what caused the other to stiffen up or feel uncomfortable and tried to allow the other in when they naturally felt an instinct to clam up. It was exhilarating and Steve had never wanted to absorb every little piece of information from someone before and it was overwhelming to feel the same level of interest given back to him.

It was a surprise when they arrived at the kingdom’s edge and Steve jolted to a halt, mouth falling open at the sight of it. The masses of buildings, stone and brick, some thatched rooves. Chimneys and streets and signs and then there was the castle. The huge looming building in the centre, turrets and stain glass windows and flags. It’s beautiful.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks him and he’s the only thing in the world Steve would tear his eyes away from this place to look at.

“I want to draw it,” He answers with a staccato laugh, repeating itself. Bucky smiles fondly at him.

“There’s time.” He says easily and it’s as if his words just settle in Steve’s chest and his restlessness eases. They do have time. He’ll stare at everything until he blinks and sees it ingrained on his retinas so he’ll be unable to forget it. He’s doing the same with Bucky, not that anyone needs to know that.

“Can we,” He gestures to the kingdom and Bucky laughs.

“That’s why we’re here, right?” And he starts walking.

Entering the kingdom feels monumental. Every step feels like a step into an alien world that he strangely belongs in. Every door, every alleyway, every stray cat, every window and poster and puddle is important and new and _his_ to enjoy. And then there’s the people. Everywhere. Every person that passes Steve can’t help but twist and follow with his eyes. Will he ever see them again? Where are they going? Did they cry today? Was their breakfast good, is its taste still in their mouth? Will something scare them tonight? Are they going to meet the person they love soon? When was their last argument, or kiss, or grazed knee, or hug so tight it hurt?

And then, themselves. What pitch is their voice? Do they crack their knuckles, their knees? Do they want something to drink, and when they drink will they close their eyes? Do they cry silently or is it loud and unapologetic? Do small spaces scare them, or do they make them feel safe? What are their names? He wants all of their names.

“Breathe, Stevie.” A firm, warm hand anchors him from the shoulder to the ground and he blinks, once. Then again. And blinks up at Bucky.

“There’s so much, they’re all… It’s so,”

“Steve,” Bucky warns and Steve sucks in a deep steadying breath. Bucky claps his shoulder and smiles at him, kind, patient.

“It’s a lot to take in,” He says understandingly and Steve realises he must be one of the only people who can understand how he feels.

“Does it ever slow down?” He asks, focusing wholly on Bucky, a familiar warmth settling his stomach even as his heart still skips slightly. His friend’s smile stays easy.

“No, but you can, from time to time.” He reassures. “Shall we walk for a bit, take a proper look around?”

“Yeah. Please,” He adds happily and Bucky nods, steering him to the main street. Golden bunting strewn loftily from different houses, criss-crossing above their heads, shields patterning them, guiding them further into the city.

Steve can’t stop smiling, his face hurts but his head hurts too and maybe he should stop and break but he can’t bring himself to indulge in that way. After today he may never be this beautifully overwhelmed again and he was going to overstimulate his senses until he passed out. He kept catching Bucky gazing at him, smiling, occasionally teasing or poking him saying his eyes or tongue would fall out soon. When a tune reaches them in the breeze, Steve’s throat threatens to close up as something is lodged in it. It’s foreign but he knows, it’s music. When Bucky starts humming along almost unconsciously his footsteps judder to a halt. Bucky’s humming tragically cuts off when he looks back to where Steve is stood still.

“Don’t stop,” He breathes and Bucky tilts his head in confusion. “The tune, you know the tune?” Understanding floods Bucky’s eyes and he ducks his head bashfully.

“Yeah, it’s a nice one.” He smiles and Steve tugs on his sleeve with a wide smile.

“Will you sing it?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t think –”

“Please? Please sing it? I’ve never heard a song before.” He pleads and Bucky huffs an uncomfortable laugh.

“Then I should definitely not ruin songs for you, your first song should be sang properly, come on, we can find someone singing, I’m sure –”

“No, please, I want you to sing it.” Steve tugs harder on his sleeve and Bucky briefly glances at it, gulping heavily. Looking around he huffs out another awkward laugh and then rolls his eyes to stall for another moment before he smiles wearily at Steve and began to sing in a low, hushed voice, instinctively making Steve move closer.

Steve had read about music and always wondered how words and sound went together. Bucky’s voice tracing the landscape that the violin and guitars were painting, the rise and lift of turn of phrase, harmonising suddenly made sense. His voice didn’t always follow the tune but they _fit_ , together weaving in and out and complimenting each other. On a particular line Bucky briefly lost himself in the song and closed his eyes as he reached a note that hummed in Steve’s veins delicately chasing his pulse up and up and up. He’s fairly sure a part of himself left his own body and settled in Bucky’s in that moment, and he didn’t want to take it back. He’d not realise until later that it was his heart.

The song finished and Bucky coughed quietly, smiling small. Steve beamed at him.

“I wish I could draw that sound,” He said softly and Bucky huffed a little laugh. “Then you could see how beautiful that was.” Steve finished, watching his friend swallow back the emotion.

He shrugged it off, rolling his eyes affectionately and dragging Steve towards the source of the music. They stayed for longer than an hour, watching the musicians, Steve awestruck at the dancing fingertips over instruments and listening to voices flow around him. Bucky had to pull him away before they stayed there all day. They strayed further down the street and arrived at a huge courtyard where people were playing with chalks and watercolours, colouring the cobblestone in glorious designs.

Steve shocks Bucky by running over and falling to his knees. He speaks to the others and they nod happily and pass him the art materials. Steve starts to pour pastel patterns into the courtyard, people starting to watch, gathering and praising his talent but he barely notices. The drawings all bursting with colour and streaming into other’s art, sharing the colour and space which was so new and beautiful.

He glances up to catch Bucky’s eyes following his lines and marvelling at it all and he can’t quite look back down at his work yet. He has to be careful not to sketch Bucky’s jaw or his eyes or hands when he goes back to it. The lines look more like shoulders and the curves seem to all be the stretch of a smile and he shakes his head to clear it. As he draws he thinks he hears he music and when he looks up he sees a band growing and people are beginning to dance. He watches them laugh and twirl and it looks like brilliant fun. He goes to ask Bucky about it but he sees a knowing smile on Bucky’s face when he looks over, his arm crossed and his head shaking.

“No way.”

“Come on!” He pushes, rising from the ground and dusting gentle diluted rainbows onto his trousers so his hands are somewhat clean.

“Hey, I already sang for you, I don’t dance.” Bucky protests and Steve laughs at him.

“Hm, sounds to me like you’re scared,” He teases and something sharpens in Bucky’s eyes at the challenge.

“Is that so?”

They face each other, Steve grinning and Bucky adamantly holding in a smile until they tune kicks up a notch and Steve grabs Bucky’s hand and yanks with strength so he overbalances and is forced to follow Steve into the moving mass. They just watch the other dancers spin around them for a few seconds before Steve finds his hand being pulled and he’s drawn away from Bucky, being spun by a portly woman with a beautiful smile and laugh and he laughs, too. He sees someone do the same to Bucky and he looks helpless as he’s spun around the courtyard and it’s enough to make Steve laugh hysterically as he travels rhythmically, keeping track of his friend as he dances with strangers.

The music starts to build and build and Steve’s veins feel electric as he gasps laughter and whirls with various partners he at last swirls around and into Bucky’s arms with a delighted laugh. Bucky is smiling by now and the music concludes sharply, leaving them clutching each other, breathing heavy with wide smiles as the other dancers disperse in chatter and giggles. It takes Steve a few moments to let go and back off reluctantly. Bucky is just smiling at him with a depth of feeling that Steve wants to get lost in. After a minute or two he seems to come back to himself though and gestures for Steve to follow him.

“It won’t be long until sunset, you’ll want a good seat for those lights,” He grins and Steve’s heart jumps again.

“We’re going somewhere special?”

“Yeah, should be real special, Stevie.” He says warmly and the impulse to kiss Bucky almost overwhelms him. He nods wildly and feels his face flush bright red, luckily Bucky doesn’t seem to notice.

Maybe he’ll be daring enough to lean over and capture those lips one day. For now though, he follows Bucky away from the excited noise of the townsfolk and away to where they’ll be watching what he’s dreamed of for two decades, pretending he doesn’t have a new dream that is engulfing him far more quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that was that.  
> i would love to know what you think, your comments are incredibly important to me & the progress of this story.  
> i hope you liked it, i'm trying to be realistic with these two and the pace they would intake the world and each other.  
> have a wonderful day and week, i have had the most lovely first week back in my 2nd year of uni, my love goes to you all. b x


	9. Glowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT'S THE BLOODY FLOATING LIGHTS   
> WE MADE IT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol here comes my list of excuses for my appalling gap between chapters.  
> my 20th birthday, family, uni, travelling, i am sooo ill, also i'm just busy af i don't understand how it's happening where is my time going it's nearly november wth??  
> anyway, to apologise here are the FLOATING LIGHTS ft. the smallest bits of angst bc i can't help myself.  
> the comments on the last chapter made me emotional and i really want to make lovely reading for you all.  
> ugh another super long AN i apologise - enjoy!!

Following Bucky feels like second nature. He absently muses about how long he’d do this, where he’d follow him to. A ridiculous question, really. Watching the confident sway of his shoulders and returning the cheeky smiles he occasionally throws over his shoulder – it’s all too clear it doesn’t matter what’s in front of them, it only matters that Bucky is headed in that direction.

It’s a beautifully warm evening as Bucky leads them down the cobbled streets. Sam has been flitting around them for the past hour and Bucky keeps asking him to ‘buzz off’ – ‘he’s not a fly, Buck’, and Sam seems to be eased by the berries Bucky drops for him. He ignores the smug smiles Steve sends him. The sun is just setting and the dim light cascades through the cracks in between houses and windowpanes. It strikes him as he walks through a soft beam of sunshine that he’s twenty one today. He’s been alive for twenty one years and the past week has been the most exciting he’s ever had. Everything he’s dreamt of feeling, experiencing, he’s collided with. And then all of the _everything_. There’s so much that he’s stumbled into before even realising it was upon him. The dominoes of smiles in a group of friends, the thrill of the few heartbeats as you pause to see if someone will trust you, the electricity that sparks from your chest and down into your fingertips when safe arms encircle you. And that’s just the _everything_.

 _People_. Touches, lingering breaths, expressions, the gaps in between words and actions. Fleeting and sharp, sharper than words but all too often forgotten. But his deprivation of these startling moments, so important and telling made them all the more overwhelming. A raise of Bucky’s eyebrows has made his stomach perform acrobatics, made his eyes sting with tears, made his fists clench, and made his face hurt with how wide his smile can grow. How are these small miracles not the wonders of the world? Why are there tomes upon tomes of poetry and books marvelling over nature when someone’s smile can make your heart thump so angrily you think it’ll break through your ribcage to get closer to its stimulus.

All too soon the bitter thought chases his happy glow away as he considers this may be his last night of freedom. How soon will it be before he’s back in his cage? It was difficult to avoid the word trapped before he’d stepped foot in the real world, but now? How could he feel anything but crushed, stifled, drowned, in a box, a coffin hundreds of feet in the air, waiting and wasting away his life now that he’s seen so much the world has to offer?  

They round a corner and Steve stops in his tracks. He stares at the harbour that opens into a huge expanse of water, the sunset reflecting a gorgeous spectrum of sunlight into his eyes. Somehow this giant kingdom is on the edge of the world.

“Is.. Is this the ocean?” Steve breathes and Bucky laughs warmly at him.

“No, it’s a lake.”

“A lake?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grins at him and Steve blushes with a smile. Bucky seems to notice his chagrin because his smile turns fond at the edges and he walks back over. “See, no waves, it’s still.” He says softly, gesturing the flat, smooth line of the water.

“Right,” Steve clears his throat, embarrassed.

“You didn’t think this was it though, right?” Bucky smirks at him and starts walking backwards, towards the harbour, all cool ease and cocky swagger that made Steve’s knees weaken as he could do nothing but follow.

When they reach the water’s edge Steve momentarily panics that Bucky will ask him to jump in but instead he steps off the pier and he doesn’t sink. In fact, he half bobs and lifts his other foot in the water, which turns out to be where the boat is neatly situated when Steve perches over to look.

“You coming, or what?” He offers his hand like it’s nothing, so Steve takes it and pretends that it is. He even lets it go quickly and sits down, looking over the edge of the boat so Bucky can’t see him as the pink on his face fades.

He watches as the boat is untied and Bucky uses a large wooden oar to push them out to the centre of the lake, slowing them and keeping them facing the kingdom. The boat wobbles slightly on the water and Steve grips the edge and takes a steadying breath.

“Hey, you alright?” Bucky’s suddenly in his face, hand on his knee, a little worried smile and Steve huffs a nervous laugh.

“I can’t swim, so, the water, and,” He sucks in another breath and is surprised to feel it stick in his throat, panic flaring low in his chest, a white knuckle grip on the rocking wooden edge.

“Breathe.” Bucky commands and he tries. He stutters in a shallow breath and then another one, but it feels as if he’s not breathing at all. He tries again, drawing in sharper breaths, quicker and shallower and there’s no oxygen reaching his brain surely because his eyes are starting to go into tunnel-vision and the colours are blurring and staining into each other.

He doesn’t see Bucky move, he just feels himself being pulled off the seat and onto the wooden floor of the boat, arms gently holding him, and he’s sat between Bucky’s legs. Then, a hand softly presses into his chest so he leans back into Bucky’s, feels his slow, even breaths. He knows what Bucky’s doing and he focuses, closing his eyes and trying to match his breaths. It takes minutes that feel like hours but he finally lets his head loll back and lets out big, relieving breaths, relishing the feeling of Bucky’s shoulder behind him and the way his arms tighten when he knows Steve has calmed down.

“M’ really sorry, Buck,” He mumbles, mortified that he’d made such a scene when this was supposed to be a special occasion.

“Don’t be stupid, you can get scared by new stuff, Stevie,” He assures, circling his thumbs over Steve’s skinny shoulders before gently pulling him back up onto the wooden seat and sitting opposite him, hands continually drifting over to gently pat his shoulder or knee. Light touches putting him at ease and Steve’s endlessly glad that he doesn’t have to ask for them, that Bucky somehow just knows.

He stares out at the water again, ignoring the wave of slight nausea that makes his breath want to speed again. He keeps it slow, careful and deliberate, running his fingertips through the water and watching the ripples cascade in delicate circles away from him. His fingertips leaving traces, an echo in the water, a cursory man-made glitch in nature. When his stomach settles, he looks up from the reflection and into the silhouetted kingdom, outlined in an amber shade from the sun that’s setting somewhere behind it.

“I am scared,” He admits, swallowing roughly through the thick silence as he stares at the countdown to his two decade long dream.

“You know I’d never let you drown, right?” Bucky pokes him and he acts as if he’s teasing but his eyes and tone are serious. Steve laughs and rolls his eyes.

“That’s not what I’m scared of,”

“What is it?” He pushes.

“I, this is, this is it, this has been my dream for twenty years, well, twenty one today –”

“Wait, what,”

“And I, what if it’s not, what if it’s not everything I dreamed it would be?”

“What do you mean –”

“Then what the heck am I supposed to do?” He pushes, gulping at the sky.

“It’s your birthday?”

“Bucky! I, what if,” He turns big eyes onto Bucky who grips his shoulder and grins at him.

“What if it’s more, huh? And then you get to choose whatever the hell you want for your next dream,” He smiles encouragingly and Steve can’t help but smile back in a daze. Does he have any idea? Even an inkling? Or is he blissfully ignorant? His stare holds for long enough to create a charge, a strong pulse that throws them both off balance and spiralling into each other.

“I’m allowed another one, you think?” Steve chuckles and Bucky tilts his head, considering him carefully with traces of a smirk.

“As many as you want,” He says, letting his eyes trail over the sparkling, undulating surroundings.

“As many as I want?” Steve repeats incredulously with a laugh and Bucky hums into a little secret smile, not meeting his eye.

“You’ve got some time to catch up on, right?”

“I guess so, but,” He bites on his lip and misses Bucky’s eyes chasing the movement.

“You deserve it, Stevie, you know that?” He asks, and he is really asking so Steve tips his head over, asking the question with his eyes and Bucky sighs good-naturedly, shaking his head. “You don’t just deserve to dream, you should get all those dreams coming true. Seriously, you’re the only guy I know who’d think you can only have just the one dream,” He grins and pushes playfully at his shoulder, leaving his hand there and letting it trail up and back down his neck, even once grazing his jaw.

“Yeah, guess I don’t know how it works.. don’t really know how anything works,” He smiles sadly, frowning at himself.

“Yeah, that’s obvious because you know it’s actually kind of impolite not to tell your friend that it’s your birthday, punk.” Bucky shifts closer, clasping his hands, elbows on his knees, smiling knowingly. Steve splutters over syllables, gesturing to the sky and then the boat and the kingdom, as if that explains what he means. “Then o’course I could’ve got you a gift.”

“I don’t need a gift.” He says too quickly.

“Steve,” Bucky frowns heavily.

“I’m serious, you already gave me a hell of a gift,”

“I didn’t give you anything.” He dismisses easily with a wave of his hand and Steve catches it and tugs it forward, taking him by surprise so he jolts closer.

“You gave me all of this, don’t ever think any different.” He says seriously and Bucky’s still frowning but there’s this hard edge in his eyes.

“Never should have happened.” He grits, low and dangerous. His hand rises with purpose, cradling his jaw, a juxtaposition in its soft hold to the sharpness lingering in his eyes. Steve’s breath is hitching and this conversation isn’t supposed to be happening, not yet. But Bucky can’t seem to help himself, he falls into it at every turn, unable to keep the frown away when he considers Steve’s past or his possible future. “None of it.” He stressed.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Steve tries, turning into Bucky’s palm but the frown deepens.

“It’s not okay.” He mumbles, and his eyes drop. He draws a thumb over Steve’s cheekbone before moving to drop his hand but Steve holds it in place. “Sorry, just, knowing he hurt you, makes me real mad, Steve, I’m not good with being angry. Puts me back to someone I don’t wanna’ be,” He gulps and Steve squeezes his hand, moving closer so they’re heads are all but pressed together. The air feels altogether steadier, intimate, something shared and private.

“You’re not that person anymore. He doesn’t have any control over who you are, or me, not ever.” Steve urges and Bucky nods, looking up and holding his gaze. “You got me out of that birdcage, Buck. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that. You don’t have to give me a thing.” He smiles and thoughtlessly turns his face and presses his lips into Bucky’s palm in a chaste kiss, not breaking eye contact. They both freeze – Bucky looks as if he’s not breathing.

Steve’s mind is running a mile a minute. Part of him, a daring and thrilled part, wants him to chase the contact, press his lips again and part them, see how wide he can make Bucky’s eyes go, what’ll happen if he lets his tongue trail down Bucky’s palm. But a more pressing part of him wonders if he’s crossed some kind of line. Bucky’s not moving, his mouth is parted the tiniest bit and they’re close enough that it wouldn’t take much.

He’s never had a kiss before. Not a real one. He’s kissed Johann’s cheek, his hand, the way a child and teen kisses their guardian. But nothing romantic. He’s read about them. All the things he could say about Johann, at least he had no shortage of books. And he always brought more, hardly read but said it was important for a man to ‘surround himself with literature’. The romance ones he only took an interest in later in his teen years. Even then for a while he couldn’t stomach them. The knowledge that he’d never get the ‘enchantment’ that was endlessly waxed lyrical about, it made this heavy weight of sadness billow up inside of him, like a hot air balloon filled with warm bitter oil.

However, the stories made him smile, and the big finale was always sealed in a perfect kiss – timeless and breathtaking. It was always just what they wanted, what they always imagined it would be and it always had some gorgeous backdrop. He’d never thought much into what the person he kissed would look like, just how they’d kiss him – wondered if he’d feel even an inch of the happiness the characters spent three pages melting over. The concept was alien, seemingly impossible from way up in his bubble in the sky.

Suddenly words on a page were making sense but they were wrong. The heartbeat isn’t wild, it’s controlled, predictable, each beat instantly after the next, a constant. And it’s painful, it’s so loud in your ears it could be fear if you weren’t so desperate for something more important. The pull isn’t strong, it’s _cosmic_ , gravitational. He doesn’t want to pull Bucky close, he wants him to never not be close again, so ‘close’ loses its meaning, ceases to be a way to describe them because they’re never anything but. In the books it’s so easy, like breathing, like nothing and that’s not right either. Because this is agony. Delicious, tearing agony, waiting for lips to touch or his heart to stop.

Bucky inches forward and there’s no backwards anymore, just this second and whenever the next decides to arrive. They aren’t blinking, does that mean time has stopped or have they stopped and time is carrying on outside of them? Bucky’s hands tips his chin up just so, breath ghosting over his lips and as his eyes drift upwards to slide shut, he sees it.

A light.

He scrambles, practically climbing over Bucky’s shoulder in his haste, scrabbling right up to the edge, leaning over as far as he can get without falling in. He stares and his mouth is gaping as the light flickers its way across the sky. Before he can even really see it, another one joins it in the sky – an orb of sunlight, illuminated beautifully now the sun has dipped below the horizon and the skyline is painted a deep navy.

Some more orbs glide above the castle walls, fanning out, more and more rising up and coating the air with warm light that coats the backs of his retinas when he deigns to blink, for the tiniest moment. He coughs out delighted sounds when hundreds of lights seep into the sky and he can feel the warmth, the burn behind his eyes tells him he’s not dreaming because he has been in the world long enough to know that good things, wonderful things, **hurt**.

“S’beautiful,” He slurs in his distraction.

His heart feels too wide for his chest, too heavy. Close up, he can see the oblong shape as they drift close, some approaching near enough to touch, and it’s a delicate flame surrounded by a shell of featherlight paper that crackles when he traces his fingers along a few that come close enough. There are so many, it looks endless, the stream of bulbs whirling up and out from the kingdom walls.

“Everyone in the kingdom sets one off – the King and Queen did it for the lost heroson,” Bucky says quietly from behind him and Steve nods, not turning.

“Lost?”

“Yeah, he got taken, long time ago, I’ve been away for too long, don’t know what happened to the King and Queen, if they’re still around but I figure if they found the heroson – these lights wouldn’t be here anymore.” He murmurs, letting Steve take it all in. Lights searching for a lost son, lighting up the night sky to try and fight the shadows he could be hidden in. Those poor parents. That poor boy. Never found and still looking after so long.

“Why’s he called the heroson?” He croaks, craving more information to make sense of the mystery lights he’s gazed at for so long. Bucky’s hand settles on his back, rubbing circles into his spine and he seems to recognise the importance of this moment, of the information to accompany this. It has to make sense, this has to be crystal clear in his mind after a lifetime of fogged maybes and clouded wondering.

“He saved the Queen’s life. Apparently when she was really ill she got pregnant, everybody says the baby made her better, gave her strength somehow, she survived. Baby’s born, then gets snatched – world’s a shitty place sometimes.” He mutters and Steve drags his eyes from the sky to see the face that matches that tone and it’s beautiful. A sad, ragged kind of empathy, a bold apology for the world and what it can be when it decides to be vicious.

“The people loved the royals, set off these lights to remember but... also just for some hope, you know?” Bucky says thoughtfully and Steve gives him a watery smile.

“Yeah, I do. Hope.. kept me alive,” He reveals, watching Bucky closely, noting the frayed breath pattern, the thin line of his mouth, desperately keeping in things that aren’t allowed to be said.

“You give me hope, you know that?”

“I do?” He breathes and Bucky nods.

“Never had that before,” He mutters and Steve stares, tears threatening to make themselves known, marvelling at the man who not long ago wouldn’t tell him his name, and is now so wholly opening up. Pointing out his weak points and trusting Steve not to take aim like so many others before had trained him was the norm. Highlighting the scars and stitches and having faith that Steve wouldn’t pull out the string and rip the wounds open again, old hurts that rather than burying, he’s shining lights on.

“Buck,” He mumbles, trailing his fingertips atop Bucky’s metal knuckles. He almost thinks Bucky can’t feel it until he lifts his fingertips and catches Steve’s – tangling them together.

“You’re missing the light,” He reminds quietly, eyes on their entwined hands.

“No, I’m not.” Steve says, indulging himself a little, the thrill shooting through his veins as Bucky’s head snaps up and they continue to dance the line between what they mean and what they are willing to say.  The boat is gently and slowly twirling in the water, the kingdom on one side, the coastline on the other.

“You’re crazy, Stevie,” Bucky smirks and like clockwork Steve’s heart thuds in his chest, refusing to be ignored. “How’s freedom taste, huh?” He teases, a hand sliding through Steve’s hair. Unhidden, easy affection, fingers lingering at the back of Steve’s neck, smirking at the wild pulse that jumps beneath it. The word home is stuck in his throat because it’s too raw.

That’s another thing they don’t tell you, it’s raw. That look, the gulp, the tightness in the throat, behind the eyes, in the chest. He feels on more of a ledge now than he did when he fell off that cliff because there’s no landing here, he’s hurtling towards something but there’s no contact point, just a void that could swallow him up or spit him out – dangerous and whole-hearted. Unpredictable and uncharitable but he’s not an explorer because he’s already found what he’s looking for, stumbled across it in fact, painfully by chance.

He decides to try something.

Lifting a hand and exhaling shakily, he slides it into Bucky’s hair, tangles it, draws a tiny soft gasp from his friend. He tilts his head slightly and ducks forward, pressing his lips to Bucky’s cheek for a long, gentle moment, pulling away a little and then back further. Bucky’s jaw is working, he is frowning as if he’s concentrating fiercely on something, hand still splayed at the nape of Steve’s neck.

“Steve,” Bucky starts and Steve holds his breath. Bucky’s eyes are flickering all over his face, lingering on his lips. He sets his shoulders and seems to lean forwards when he freezes up, eyes over Steve’s shoulder. He sucks in an aborted breath and startles, sitting back.

“Buck?”

“I, hey, there’s, there’s something I gotta’ do but, it won’t take long, okay?” He says solemnly, squeezing Steve’s hand.

“Gotta’ do?” Steve whispers, confused.

“Yeah, but I won’t be long.” Bucky repeats. There’s something worried in his eyes but Steve recognises the feeling in them that mirrors his own, a determination to return to him so he smiles seriously and nods.

“Alright, sure, Bucky, whatever you need.” He smiles as steadily as he can and Bucky nods a promise.

He paddles them to the opposite shore, jumping out and hauling the boat up onto the pebbled beach bordering a thick, dark forest.

“This’ll just take a few minutes, alright?” Bucky says as Steve climbs out of the boat. He has the satchel slung over his shoulder but Steve forces himself past any worries – this is Bucky. Something is wrong, but trust is unconditional, it has to stand in any situation not just the easy ones.

“Yeah, everything okay?” He ventures gently and Bucky glances back at him apologetically.

“It will be, I just need to take care of this and then, we’ll be good.” He assures and Steve nods, sitting on the ledge of the boat, a statement – he’s not going anywhere.

Bucky takes a couple of steps before he stops. Steve watches the set of his shoulders rise and fall before he swiftly turns on his heel and yanks Steve by the arm into a close embrace. He sighs into Steve’s hair and it’s warm and perfect, like always but something feels weighted about this moment so Steve takes heed and clings on, burying his face into Bucky’s chest. He heart lurches when Bucky’s lips press to his temple.

“Happy birthday, Stevie.” He mumbles, tightening his arms just a fraction before he pulls away with a distant smile and quickly walks away, headed into the foggy line of the shore.

Steve slumps onto the boat ledge. Someone, somewhere is making up for all twenty of Steve’s bland birthdays in this single one. His hand raises and he delicately dusts his fingertips where Bucky’s lips had been moment prior and he knows the spark he feels is imagined but it doesn’t matter. He wraps his arms around himself and releases a soft sigh.

“He’s coming back.” He says aloud to himself. The empty echo that follows it doesn’t put him at ease. But it’s Bucky. He keeps promises and Steve has complete faith in him.

“He’s coming back.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to try and wrap this up soon and as per i already have other fics on the go bc i can't help myself.  
> honestly last chapter's comments made me get very emotional, i want to try and get new chapters out more quickly.   
> okay, i need to bury myself in blankets, tissues and scripts, i am up at 10am in uni for 7 hours and have been hungover all weekend hahaha what is happening  
> okay, until the next one dears - b x


	10. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve both get a nasty shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHES BACK  
> it's so late and i am a terrible author.  
> forgive me, be kind, this winter's been hard.  
> this will get better - it's angst bc it's me lol sorry +it's short bc i'm getting to the big finale and want to do one or two big chapters for the end.  
> ilu x

Bucky stomps off in the direction he’d seen Ward and Rumlow lurking on the coastline after leaving Steve with a promise that he’d be back soon. It takes a few minutes before he reaches them, skulking on the shore, grim smiles when he spots them. The evening was shifting into something colder, the damp gravelly sand crunching beneath his feet as he warily approached the two men. Stopping a few metres away, they regard each other for a few seconds.

“Look who decided to pay us a visit,” Rumlow snarks and Bucky’s eyebrow quirks just a fraction. Even Ward looks a little embarrassed.

“We’ve got some business with you, Barnes,” Ward pushes on, eyes steely and observant – ever the more intelligent of the two.

“You’ve got no business with me, boys. You got business with the crown, fine.” He pulls the satchel from his shoulder and tosses it across the stony distance, letting it clatter at their feet, the crown poking out and glinting in the newly visible moonlight.

As their eyes drift briefly to the crown, Bucky lets his eyes scan his surroundings. He feels oddly exposed, like a fish on a hook that’s been hauled to shore and left on the pebbles to choke. The expanse of the lake on his left and the thick treeline on his right, he was in unfamiliar territory. Not just that, he also felt disoriented in the dark and distracted by his need to remain between these men and where Steve was waiting further down the shoreline.

He sees their decision a second before their feet move and they step carelessly over of the discarded crown. The wiry smiles return, smug satisfaction of catching the asset off guard no doubt. Bucky holds his ground, refusing to play along as they encroach.

“This doesn’t have to be difficult,” Ward tries, something akin to humour lingering in his eyes and Bucky bristles, his arm whirring to life of its own accord.

“Listen to it go,” Rumlow whistles long and low and they both smirk.

They stop just a few feet from him, daring him to show his hand, to challenge or to run. Bucky’s been manipulated and toyed with his entire life, he doesn’t intend to continue. He straightens his back and runs his tongue over his teeth, baring them.

“Did you think no one would notice? No one would _mind_?” Ward scrutinises him with the eyes of a scientist and it makes Bucky want to shudder. Suddenly, being on the shore feels cold, Steve’s gone and taken the sun with him which makes sense considering he is, conveniently enough, all the light in Bucky’s life.

“You belong to Hydra,” Rumlow says with sickening sincerity.

“I belong to myself. No one owns me.” He grits out. “I’m a _person_.” Maybe there’s some compassion hidden away in these men. Steve would appeal to their better nature.

“We made you. You’re not a person, you’re a tool. An asset.” Ward frowns and there’s nothing but belief in his eyes. There’s no appealing to a man who believes people are objects. “Ironically, you aren’t the priority anymore.” He dismisses quickly and not a single muscle of Bucky’s relaxes.

“Something a lot more valuable in mind,” Rumlow sneers. Bucky still refuses to rise to the goading. The smug looks he’s receiving are clueing him in and his blood is steadily running cold. The impasse comes to a head when Rumlow slowly, deliberately steps as if to move around Bucky. In the direction of Steve. Bucky steps once to block his path and seals his fate. Rumlow’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. Ward’s head tilts and he shakes his head with a small smile, like Bucky’s a child that’s misbehaved. His arm kicks up a gear to a dull thrum, ready.

“You’ll have to take my other fucking arm first,” He growls, not hiding his clenched fists.

“So you can feel,” Ward says, happily surprised and Bucky grits his teeth so hard It hurts. “In that case, I am sorry about what’s going to happen. If it’s any consolation, you clearly weren’t made to feel.”

The sentence holds disgusting weight. These men are walking proof of what he used to be.

“It’s a glitch, Barnes. What you think you’re feeling – it’s chemicals and wiring gone wrong.” Ward looks apologetic and it’s making his stomach turn. A thick rage swells up his chest. But how does he know they’re wrong?

He lived for who knows how long, functioning on instruction and apathetic violence. And worse, he was good at it. The best. Since he started ‘feeling’ or whatever was happening in his brain that was tricking him into thinking he could be a real person, he’d done nothing but get lost. Lost direction, lost sense of self, control. And how many times had he put Steve in danger? But the thought of Steve brought him back to himself. The feeling that shot through him was no glitch. The memories of laughter and confusion and fear and inexplicable, indefinable happiness, nothing that strong was not meant to be there. None of it happened on purpose of course, but that made it all the more natural. The only natural thing about him in a long time. Because it was reaction. Natural responses to Steve, impossible to manufacture which made them inherently precious.

And this natural reaction to the idea that his feelings for Steve were some kind of malfunction, a feeling of outrage, was something he felt it paramount to defend. They wouldn’t take this feeling away from him.

“I’m not going to let you to him. And you can’t kill him because then I’ll kill every last one of you.” The threats were back. A spike of panic accompanies that thought. The threats were back. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Do you understand yet, robot? It’s not you we’re after, _well_ , not for now anyway.” Rumlow snarled.

“Just leave him out of this, he’s just a stranger I bumped into, he’s not involved in any of this,” He attempted a change of tactic, putting off violence which was a new concept all in itself.

“He’s the prize.” Rumlow’s eyes sparkled. It was too much, Bucky’s metal fist was lifting him off his feet before he even registered stepping forwards.

“You listen to me.” He punctuated each hushed word with perfect clarity. “You will not touch him. He is no one’s.”

“So he’s not yours?” Rumlow prods but he has the sense not to smile. Bucky falters, hand still gripping his collar and it must show on his face. “I assume you won’t be touching him either.”

“Rumlow,” Ward warns but he’s caught a stray thread and he’s going to pull the fabric apart at the seams. Bucky knows their training after all, he’s had it himself.

“Right, as if you’d touch him with that much blood on your hands.” The words make his throat constrict. “As if he’d let you.”

“Shut up!” Bucky screams as he throws Rumlow onto the rough pebbled shore, half-draped into the shallows of the lake.

“Look at yourself!” Rumlow yells as he climbs to his feet, unphased. “You were built _bloody_ , do you think that goes away in a couple of days?”

“Do you think it’s random chance you ran into him?” Ward pipes up and Bucky can see the manipulation, they aren’t even attempting to hide it. But it’s breaking through. Maybe because this whole time he’s been harbouring that doubt that Steve still only wants him until he doesn’t need him anymore. Or until he’s too disgusted by his past. It should be ridiculous, easy to dismiss. But it isn’t. All they’re saying is based on fact.

“Random chance?” He repeats uselessly. Foolishly. Ward is smart enough to recognise a foothold when he finds one.

“We know what he is. Or at least we know what he can do – no one knows what the hell he is,” Ward backs off with his hands raised in surrender when Bucky advances angrily. “He’s got stuff running in his veins that our scientists have spent decades and they couldn’t cook up. And you, our most advanced asset, just happen to run into him?” He raises an eyebrow and Bucky can’t blink.

“You were drawn to the raw power – they fashioned you that way, seek out future assets.”

Bucky’s brain feels as though someone’s squeezing it into a tight box as the image of Steve being recalibrated, strapped to a chair, wires, blood, and he bit down a retch. He must have blacked out slightly because when he blinks, Rumlow and Ward have a hold of either arm. He can see Rumlow attaching a defector to his metal arm and swings to throw him off but Ward has thrown him off balance and a leg swings out, throwing him to the ground.

“рассвет.”

His head swims as the box gets smaller. He can barely stay on his knees, lifting one leg takes so much energy, he drags it round and in that time Rumlow is up again and a knee collides with his face. He feels his nose break and he coughs on the blood that shoots up his nose and in his mouth.

“один.”

He gargles blood as the box is set on fire, his vision’s split in two and the waves of desire to obey are bone-breaking. To accompany the bone breaking. Electric currents are shooting up through his metal arm and his brain whites out, not even the instinct to scream – that was wiped out long ago. Too human of a response. The reality is much more frightening. The desire to shut down overwhelms him, and what’s worse, he knows how to do it.

“печь!”

The yell comes to him with one of his ankles snapping and mercifully a scream rips through but it’s mangled by a soaked cloth covering his mouth, coated in something far stronger than chloroform. He feels a needle being pressed into his neck but his arms are no longer his own.

“We’ll break him before we turn him into something new,” Rumlow’s voice sounds like it came from the other side of the lake but it clears his mind in an instant. He roars as he first slams through the burning box and then rips his limbs into action, slamming his charged arm into his jaw and sending Rumlow flying.

“Why would you antagonise him?” Ward bellows as he pulls a gun out. Bucky dodges two shots before Rumlow sends another charge through his arm which sends his pulse flying and he can feel whatever they injected getting dragged further through his veins.

“желание!” Is the last thing he hears before he’s shot in the head.

**_xxxxxxxx_ **

Steve shivers and huddles a little tighter into himself. The moonlight reflecting off the lake was entrancing at first but its turned haunting. He wishes Sam were fluttering about his head, that way at least he’d have someone to talk to, something to show the passing of time. He’s not sure if he’s been here minutes or hours but it feels unsettlingly long since he saw Bucky’s shadow disappear.

His mind must be playing tricks on him when he hears distant cracks.

He wants to say to himself aloud again, Bucky’s coming back, but for some reason the silence is heavier now. Breaking it would feel like giving away his hiding space. His exposed position only makes him feel more vulnerable. He wouldn’t leave him. He didn’t just take the crown and bolt. The thought is persistent, nagging and ferocious. He groans and squeezes his eyes shut, raking his hands through his hair.

Something snaps.

A twig. Much closer. He shrinks a little, straining to see down the shoreline in the dark. His heart is thudding painfully, images of the animals Johann had described to him as a child pouncing on him. When he sees a silhouette appear he lets out a huge gust of air, relief bursting from him. He instantly starts moving towards it.

“Wow, I thought for a second there you might have run off and left me here,” He laughs breathlessly, excited at the prospect of continuing the evening with Bucky when another silhouette appears and as they come into focus, he sees that they’re not Bucky’s build and backs off.

“Yeah, he did.” A voice too low to be right says before the men come into view – large and imposing with disturbing smiles on their faces.

“Who are you?” He asks, nerves slipping into his voice.

“Not important.” The other man says, almost apologetically.

“Where’s Bucky?”

“ _Bucky_?” The two men exchange a look of amused surprise and Steve knows he’s said too much. Something here isn’t right.

“Never mind, he’ll be here soon,” Steve bluffs, standing up straight. Bucky would probably call him an idiot if he was here.

“Somehow, I doubt that.” The shorter man sneers and Steve’s skin is crawling all of a sudden.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re talking about the guy with the crown who just stole my boat, told us their was a skinny blond down here that would sell to Hydra for a pretty penny.” He threw it away carelessly but it hit Steve like a punch to the gut.

“He what?”

“Yeah, apparently you’ve been kind of a pain in his ass – sorry to break it to you,” The taller man even laughed. He laughed. Steve wanted to be sick.

“No, he –” Steve choked a little. “He wouldn’t, I, he isn’t,” He couldn’t find the words.

“Don’t believe us? Hey, take a look there, there he is.” The shorter man smiled cruelly as he pointed out onto the lake and against his will, Steve’s eyes followed the man’s directions.

A boat, sailing out in the direction of the castle, far bigger than the rowboat he and Bucky had used. In the centre, at the wheel, it was unmistakably Bucky’s silhouette, his hair, even the glint of his metal arm.

“Bucky!” He calls out despite himself. The two men laugh under their breath and Bucky doesn’t even turn. “Bucky,” He mumbles, his heart sinking out of his feet and shattering, slowly, each crack and shard splintering more painfully than the last.

“What a shame. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. Shoot you or not shoot you – you go in the bag,” The taller man smiles and it’s a scarily kind smile, one Steve would easily trust in a different situation. Is this naivety? It’s scary in practice.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.” His voice doesn’t waver and he rejoices at the tiny visible flicker on the men’s faces. They think he has crazy powers and don’t want to jump him in case he has laser eyes or something.

“If you shoot me, it’ll just bounce back.” He says it quickly so it might sound less ridiculous but astoundingly the men exchange a frustrated glance. He feels a thrill of excitement before the taller man whips out a knife and starts slinking towards him.

Looking around, there’s nothing but a boat paddle and he couldn’t get to it quick enough, plus turning his back was something he was unwilling to do. The man was nearly upon him when a loud yell emerged from the trees.

“Steven!” It was Johann, tumbling out of the foliage and throwing himself onto the taller man, the knife slicing his upper arm.

“Johann! No, oh God, stop!” Steve cries as Johann falls to the floor and clutches his arm which is heavily bleeding.

The two men are glancing at each other nervously, the taller one throws the knife into the lake and they turn tail, surprisingly and back off, disappearing into the woodland. The moment they disappear, Steve sinks to his knees, clutching at Johann.

“It’s okay, I got you, I’ve got you, okay,” Steve is stumbling over his words as he hurries to heal Johann. In his hurry Johann jolted a little, heled too quickly to strictly be safe.

“Oh, are they gone? Steven, thank God, are you alright? Did they hurt you?” Johann was all hands, reaching and checking and Steve was crying for some reason. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

“You saved me, I can’t, thank you, I just,” He’s choking on his words and Johann is shushing him, clutching him to his chest, stroking his hair like he used to when he was younger.

“What is it, dearest?” He asks and his voice isn’t soothing, it sets Steve’s nerves on edge but he needs this, he clings to Johann’s shirt, weeping openly.

“He, he’s, gone, he’s gone, he left, and, he promised, he promised and he’s gone,” He sobbed loudly, the cavity in his chest aching and suddenly all the songs people sang about heartbreak made him want to laugh. They were incredibly productive, in this state, even crying was using energy he didn’t have anymore.

“I tried to tell you, Steven, the world hurts people in the mot wicked ways,” Johann hushed him. “Let’s go home.”

“But he…”

“Home, Steven.” Johann pushed, pulling him up and Steve took one last look out over the lake – the boat and man he loved now long gone and the ache in his chest drowned his body down to his fingertips and became a faded throb. He nodded to Johann and, with his brain dull and blank, made his way back to the birdcage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there you go short but (not so) sweet - please comment so i know all is not lost  
> next chapter will be better, nearly at the end  
> i have many more fics planned and some half-written haha i am a mess anywho  
> really hope you enjoyed, sorry about the cliffhanger but you love it really  
> okay, until the next one - b x


	11. Bring It Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky find themselves separated and facing extreme danger. They might have ran out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i'm alive.   
> 2nd year of uni is going well, everything else is a bit of a struggle.   
> i have some time off and i'm finally writing again, i have a dramione fic sketched out which should be up soon.  
> i want to wrap this up next chapter and maybe one more, i haven't decided yet.  
> thank you for the support and continued reading despite ridiculous waits - you're all wonderful.

_It’s blurry. He’s squinting and straining his eyes but for some reason it’s getting darker. Starting to panic, he feels his lungs contracting. It’s sudden and painful and he can’t keep his eyes open, why can’t he keep his eyes open? It might be a boat, it’s too far away but somehow he knows. He needs to be on that boat. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows. If he doesn’t get to that boat the worst thing in the world will happen. But he doesn’t know what it is. It’s that sickly human instinct that kicks in a few moments before something dreadful._

_He realises he’s treading water. Except he’s not treading it, he’s definitely sinking at this point. Are his arms and legs even moving? They feel too heavy. The boat is so far away and his body is dipping under the water that feels like quicksand, clogging his lungs and tearing his throat to ribbons. And there’s music. Distant twinkly song, so out of place it feels mocking. The song is familiar and it might be trying to comfort him, calm him, but in doing so it’s killing him. The pull to give in to the song and sink and sink and sink, let the boat and whatever it holds go. Surely that would be easier._

_If he could just remember what he’s swimming for. But the song is warm and he lets his body get pulled deeper, unattached to it. He gives in. He sees the boat erupt in flames just before he loses sight of the surface. The panic that erupts in his stomach and claws up his throat makes him thrash and writhe in the water but it isn’t water anymore – it’s clay and it’s solidifying around his limbs and in his lungs. He tries to scream but it’s swallowed up by the clay and he can feel someone else’s scream reverberate under the water somehow and reach him._

_He doesn’t know who’s screaming. But he does. And they stole his scream from him. He should’ve reached the boat. If he’d just been strong enough to reach the boat. The scream morphs into a curdled, bloodied sob and he can suddenly see it. Its Bucky. Some faceless, brainwashing Hydra goon standing over him, motionless. Bucky’s throat’s been slit and he’s gargling on the blood, reaching across the deck of the boat to Steve who’s not there. He’s dying and Steve can’t help, he can’t reach him, he can’t get there, he’s drowning, he’s falling, he’s sinking, losing, failing, crumbling –_

“BUCKY!”

Steve bolts upright in bed, drenched in sweat, so are his covers that are tangled uncomfortably tight around his arms and legs, no doubt from where he’d been flailing in his sleep. He’s breathing like a racehorse, gulping in air and releasing it more quickly than his body can process. Doubling over the side of the bed, he retches over and over again but nothing happens, there’s nothing in his system for him to throw up.

Allowing his body to tumble off the side of the bed, laying curled up on the refreshingly cool floor, sobs wrack his body. He’s quickly shivering in the sheen of cold sweat so early in the morning but he can’t bring himself to care. Biting down on his fist to mask the sound of choked off cries. It’s grief. It has such a remarkably strong flavour. It’s drowning his senses, he can’t think or relax or process anything, he’s simply engulfed by this _feeling_. And that’s what it is. His mind and body are uniting to make him relentlessly _feel_. The grief isn’t new. He used to read and think about grief and imagine it to be something new, that’s why it’s so scary, you haven’t felt it before. But that’s not true. Or rather, that’s only half of it.

He’s overwhelmed not only by the unknown but by the known. Every memory, however fleeting and the ones he imagines in his mind that he can’t fully remember but knows happened. Exchanged glances and smiles over something so small or insignificant his brain hasn’t imprinted it into his long term memory. But now he feels betrayed. How could his mind underestimate those quick moments of bliss, how could some memories slip away.

And in his panic and terror at losing anything, he’s reliving _everything_. Every joke and question and twist of his smile and wringing of his hands or furrow of his brow, the way his hair fell, the way, the way, the way…

Steve clutches at his head, begging it to stop. Begging for some relief from this useless self-torture. It felt cruel and circular. Endless. Bucky’s probably already back to killing. Even as he thinks it Steve wants to object. Still. He _still_ can’t fully accept the truth. Johann’s right – he’s naïve to the core. He keeps trying to convince himself it isn’t true, that logically it can’t be. It can’t have all been a lie, he made Bucky feel as much he did. Surely. He’s not great at people, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t one. Some human instinct is begging him to cling to the hope that it’s not true. And there’s evidence to support the theory, every look and exchange, their slow build of trust and what Steve only now recognises is faith. This blind faith that still won’t leave him. But Bucky left him as good as dead. He saw it with his own eyes, concrete proof. Bucky betrayed him. Was Bucky even his name?

The thought strikes a stutter in his sob. Those men didn’t recognise the name. It shouldn’t bother Steve at this point, after everything. How much Bucky lied about to get close to him only to hand him over to people to experiment on, a name should be nothing. It was nothing. Bucky’s an empty name. It doesn’t belong to anyone. An imaginary shadow. He’s missing, grieving memories that were with someone fictional.

He lays on his back to try and slow his sobs, letting his weight settle evenly against the wood, support him because it’s all that will now. Staring up at the ceiling he sees the paintings he made what feels like a lifetime ago. The colours seem dull now, they don’t make sense after the vibrancy of the outside world. Cruel colour in the outside world, the sort of bright that makes you wince he realises now. Staring into the sun. Pleasurable damage.

His vision clouds, the tears have slowed but now they’re less raw and something more painful. His throat feels swollen as his shoulders tremor with sadness. He feels a flash of shame and longing when the image of Bucky’s smile on the boat drifts into his mind’s eye. He concentrates and tries to remember the feel of his arms around him, he can almost imagine them wrapping him up if he tries very hard. The whole sensation makes him shudder in a gasp and release a whimper, tears rolling down the sides of his face and making the ceiling wobble from his drowned vision. He was so stupid. So easily enchanted, and by God was he _enchanted_. He followed Bucky like he was the sun, and with it all gone, he’s so lost.

A blob of colour is attracting his attention above him, dancing and whirling around. He blinks to clear his vision a little and he sucks in a breath when he realises it’s Sam, fluttering above him.

“Sam!” He says in a hushed voice. “What are you doing here? If Johann sees you,” He trails off. His own voice is alien. Sam is ignoring him anyway, he’s busily flying around in what at first appears to be in random directions. But Steve makes himself focus. Sam is trying to tell him something and anything is preferable to the self-inflicted punishment he was indulging in that he’d no doubt be back to later.

He all but glares at Sam and sees that he’s flying in a pattern – starting and ending in the same place every time. He follows Sam’s tiny body with his eyes, trying to recognise the shape. Some distant bell in his head is ringing, telling him he’s close, this is familiar. This shape is important and he’s nearly got it.

“Steven!” Johann’s voice shatters his concentration and he startles, scrambling to his feet. “Dinner’s ready!” He thankfully isn’t coming upstairs and Sam hasn’t stopped flying which is unlike him, he usually makes himself scarce upon hearing Johann.

“Later, Sam!” He hisses but Sam isn’t stopping.

“Steven!” Johann calls again, impatiently.

“Coming!” He calls over his shoulder before concentrating desperately, trying not to stare just at Sam but to see the whole shape he’s drawing in the air. He’s so near, the sensation of something being on the tip of your tongue. “Wait,” He breathes. That shape, it was on all of the banners in the town he went to with Bucky.

It was draped on bunting and strewn everywhere. And the crown, it was the symbol on the crown, nestled in the jewels. The emblem of the heroson. The lost heroson.

“Steven!”

Sam’s drawn shape seems to be traced over one he’s painted onto his wall. He staggers and collides with his bookshelf when he sees the distinct shape, over and over again, littering his walls, embedded in between the other images. It was everywhere, a subconscious repeat he’d given himself, some locked away part in his brain urging him to catch up.

“That’s, that’s,” He gasps and Sam finally stops, seems to be nodding with his tiny beak.

“What’s going on up there?”

The voice makes something bubble up inside him. A deep confused rage demanding to be accounted for. He stumbles out of his door and stares in disgusted horror at Johann who’s looking up at him from the foot of the stairs.

“Don’t ignore your Father, Steven, what’s –”

“You’re not my Father.” Steve says without blinking.

There’s a long pause where Johann seems to be completely uncomprehending.

“Excuse me,” He says at last, low and challenging. Steve lets the rage seep into his fingertips and his teeth, an animalistic primal anger feeding his power, he feels it crackle in his veins.

“I’m the lost heroson.” He says it very clearly, reaching a plateau of anger that feels like control, a dizzyingly new sensation. Johann doesn’t cover his reaction well enough, the wince and recoil as if he’d been struck.

“You.. Don’t be absurd, stupid boy, what –”

“I’m the lost heroson.” He repeats louder, more ferociously. He wishes Bucky could see him like this. He instantly regrets the thought but it’s already been and gone.

“To think how much time I’ve wasted, making you believe you were _safe_ ,” He spits the word and laughs and Steve’s down the stairs before he’s drew in another breath.

“You sick bastard!” He yells and grabs Johann by the collar with both hands, shoving him into the wall and he cries out in pain in unison with all the windows in the tower shattering, shocking Steve into releasing his hold momentarily.

And that moment was all Johann needed. A clang, Steve’s head colliding with the ground, his vision collapsing.

**_xxxxxxxxx_ **

Bucky comes to when he’s thrown onto the ground, sensing damp straw and a stench that makes him want to retch. The sound of metal on metal, keys rattling and clanging of a lock being closed make him stagger to his feet, blinking hard to regain his vision. Coming back to himself his body aches and his head feels like someone’s set off a firecracker and it’s burning out, scorch marks behind his eyes.

Focusing, he pulls himself to a sitting position, hearing jangling keys and footsteps disappearing down a hallway. It was dark, dying streams of light peeking through barred windows, so faint and devoid of visible sky that he couldn’t tell whether they belonged to dawn or dusk.

“Is that…?” A familiar voice from a corner of the cell. It’s Rumlow. Bucky forces himself up, taking in the huge communal cell, a few sparse, harrowed looking inmates and then Rumlow and Ward in the corner.

“Hey, you can’t leave us in here with him!” Ward yells but it’s too late, Bucky’s knees are on Rumlow’s throat before either of them can even blink.

“Where is he?” He snarls at Ward, not relieving any pressure on Rumlow’s neck.

“He’s, wait, the little guy, who cares, he’s,” Ward scrambles and Bucky’s metal arm begins to whir dangerously, prompting Rumlow to start flailing and making choked shrieking sounds. “Hey, okay, he went with the older guy, Johann something, said he was his Father, does it matter?”

“You gave him to fucking Johann? I thought you said you were taking him to Hydra?” Bucky growled, ignoring the purpling of Rumlow’s face.

“That was bullshit, he paid us off! We were meant to take you out of the picture then Hydra’s going to pick you up from here!” Ward explained, eyes flickering back and forth from the body under Bucky’s knee. He waited a moment more, regarding Ward carefully before growling and finally throwing Rumlow aside, disregarding his wheezing for breath.

“The only reason I haven’t ripped your throats out is because I have questions.” He seethed and Ward responded with only nods, always the smarter of the two.

However, before he could ask a single question footsteps sounded from the hallway, several sets. Guards came into view, grim expressions, unlocked the door and four grabbed Bucky, pulling him from the cell.

“Have a nice hanging while your buddy’s trapped for life!” Rumlow called out, his voice cracking and Bucky tried to throw the guards off but two more restrained him and once they had his metal arm locked into his spine any extreme movement could rip it from his shoulder – he’d found that out the hard way.

“Where are you taking me? Hanging? There’s been no trial! Are you Hydra? Listen to me, you don’t have to do this, I –” Bucky was cut off from his struggling when two a hooded figure with a bow and arrow stepped out in front of the group, stopping them in their tracks.

“Identify yourself, stranger,” One of the guards called out cautiously.

“Put down the weapon,” Another cautioned and the grips on Bucky were loosening in the distraction.

“Sir,” One guard stepped forward and then suddenly everything descended into mayhem. Someone dropped from the ceiling onto a guard, a shot was fired, yelling began, arrows were flying and Bucky took the moment to start throwing punches, knocking out as many guards as he could.

In seconds it was over, all guards on the ground out cold. Bucky span to face the other assailants, ready to fight them as well, expecting them to be Hydra agents, ready to take him back to the chair. When he turned, red hair and a smirk greeted him.

“Nat?” He huffs a laugh as she grins at him. He turns and sees the hooded figure trip over a body on his way down the corridor. “Hey Clint.”

“Hey man.” Comes the cheerful reply as he pulls his hood down to reveal a sheepish smile.

“How did you guys know I was here?” Bucky asked incredulously.

“We’re ninjas –”

“We keep tabs on you. You’re one of the few people we care about. Plus, when we saw Steve getting carted off with some random guy and you were nowhere to be seen we knew something was up.” Nat explained, watching for his reaction.

“Some guy, what guy? Johann? And you keep tabs on me? Never mind, was Steve okay? Did you talk to him?” Bucky scrambled and Natasha had an odd look on her face, some kind of disbelief.

“I knew he’d made an impression but…” She shook her head and Bucky gulped, understanding exactly what she meant. How he must look and sound. But it didn’t matter, he was exhausted and frustrated and needed to get to Steve.

“He’s done a real number on you, buddy,” Clint chuckled and Bucky cleared his throat, embarrassed.

“He needs my help,” Bucky said, a slight croak emerging and Clint frowned in concern.

“Whatever you need.” Clint said without hesitation. Bucky nodded in thanks, glancing back at Natasha.

“Whatever you need.” She repeated and Bucky gave a tight smile with a firm nod.

**_xxxxxxxx_ **

Steve blinked his eyes open, wincing at the throbbing in his skull. He sat up and the heavy weight of chains shackled to his wrists brought his attention down. He was attached to one of the huge pillars by a long heavy chain. Instinctively he ripped himself up and against the chains, expecting them to break. When he struggled against them however, his wrists ached and cracked against the sharp chain, the insides of the metal cuffs were jagged and the splintered silver pierced his skin, sending blood trickling down his forearms. He stared at it, shocked.

He could feel his body trying to heal itself but it was as if the power was locked in his bones, unable to help him. Then the wound started to burn and sizzle and he groaned in pain, hissing and clenching his teeth and his blood stained his arms.

“Your freakish ways are contained in those chains,” Johann’s voice made Steve’s head whip around. He was pacing the edge of the room, a sneer stuck to his face. “Finally a way to stop you from doing too much damage.” He crowed and Steve backed against the wall, his wrist cradled against his chest, blood seeping into his shirt.

“Keep away from me.” He grit out, ignoring the urge to howl at the pain in his wrists. The need to heal was bubbling up in his veins desperate to be released.

“Oh, you don’t get to make requests anymore. You’re a prisoner now, do you understand? You no longer get the luxury of the make believe. You are now simply a well, I see no further need for niceties.” Johann stalked forwards, crowding him against the wall and shoving the shackles against Steve’s throat, smiling grimly as blood began to leak from his throat.

Steve began to panic, clutching at his throat, desperate to heal, the power straining powerfully against his chest, begging to be set free. He refused to let any tears free, not wanting to give Johann the satisfaction.

“And to think you escaped. An oversight on my part. I was momentarily… sentimental.” He laughed, deeply amused and Steve resisted the urge to vomit. “My friends at Hydra have come up with a marvellous solution to my problem now you see,” Johann grinned, sickly.

“Hydra,” Steve breathed and felt the bile physically rise in his throat. Images of Bucky flitting through his brain. “But then he’s not, what did you do?” He gasped but Johann ignored him, reaching inside his pocket and pulling out a long needle filled with a clear liquid. Steve had good enough instincts to know that whatever was in that needle was not his friend, he couldn’t back any closer to the wall.

“This is the refined version, the first batch didn’t work as planned, you have a nice mark on your chest as a reminder of the failed batch.” Steve’s eyes widened at the words. After so many years, he was ashamed that just now it was all clicking into place. Johann never saved him as a child, from the very start, he’d been stolen. “But this has been refined, it’ll suck the life force from you, take some of your monstrous power and we can put it in anything we so choose. The possibilities are endless.”

“No, you, you can’t, what if it kills someone, you, you can’t just experiment on people!” Steve yelled, Bucky’s words of experimentation flooding back to him. Johann suddenly turned, storming up to him, a hand at Steve’s bleeding throat.

“Oh, but in fact I can! And I will. The moment we have it perfected in another I can finally kill you and rid myself of the _lost heroson_.” He spat and the air was sucked from Steve’s lungs.

“You have me to deal with first old man.” Bucky voice sounded from the window, taking the two by surprise. Steve’s heart filled to bursting point and he gasped an choked with happy delight, tears spilling over.

“I knew it!” He cried out. “I knew it wasn’t true!” Bucky shook his head firmly, his jaw clenching and arm whirring to life at the sight of Steve bloodied and shackled. The stench of Hydra in the air, Bucky refused to let it taint Steve as well. However, Johann appeared to anticipate his movements as he went to attack, suddenly the needle was at the ready at Steve’s throat, a wordless threat.

“One more step, please,” Johann dared, raising an eyebrow. Bucky’s face darkened into a scowl as the man laughed openly at him and Steve grimaced, trying to lean away but unable to escape. “He’s been taken in by you, little bird.”

“Get yourself away from him.” Bucky snarled and Johann tipped his head in challenge, looking down his nose at him.

“I think not.” He said and as Bucky yelled in protest and Steve struggled, Johann raised the needle high, ready to plunge it into Steve’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah a cheeky cliffhanger but we're gearing up for the end can you blame me.  
> it's 3am and i'm going through a plan for my next little (maybe not so little) fic, a dramione lol be kind  
> please let me know what you thought and forgive me disappearing on you all, i still love you all!  
> thank you for reading! b x


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